In The Still Of The Night
by Timbereads
Summary: After a hard night of boozin', House awakes to find something different in his bed. A very bad different. Lies, bets, drugs, sex, and dying patients, it's all too much for House. Too bad his only salvation is with someone he'd rather not see. [HouseCam]
1. Break, Bought, Owned

It was either the obnoxiously bright sun shining directly into his face or the excruciating pain emanating from his leg that jolted him from his peaceful slumber. Well, as peaceful as it can get when you can't sleep on your right side or that his dreams were incredibly trippy. Alcohol-induced, no doubt. Probably brought on by some alone time with his piano and his friend, Captain Morgan. He really had to stop doing that.

His hangover was making his skull pound and the searing ache in his quads, and as he reached for the Vicodin, House made yet another empty promise to himself to quit indulging in drink when he was depressed.

The man collapsed back into the mattress and buried himself under the thick comforter. He would have fallen back asleep if it hadn't been for a naked leg brushing against his foot or a muffled groan coming from beside him.

Well.

That was different.

It wasn't that House had never woken up with a naked woman beside him before. He may have been a lonely, bitter misanthrope but even he was enough of an average man to have urges. It's just that…well, none of the women had ever looked quite so much like Cameron before. Or smelled just like her.

Or smiled just like her.

Shit.

House's blue eyes widened in surprise. This was not good.

"Hey," the younger doctor whispered, poking House in the rib.

"Don't do that," he snapped. "You break it, you bought it."

Cameron's grin grew wider and leaned in even closer, bringing her full lips to his ear. "I do believe, Sir Doctor, that I already own it." Each word was punctuated by a tiny kiss, from his temple down to his stubble-covered chin.

Goddamn…House's eyes rolled to the back of his head as Cameron's hand roamed across his chest and around his stomach. Based on the way she knew _exactly_ where to touch him, House guess she was a great lay.

He almost wished he could remember it.

The sound of the automatic coffee brewer kicking in brought House back to his senses. He jumped away from her touch – as well as a crippled person could jump – and snatched wildly for his cane. Cameron frowned, confused.

Hobbling as fast as he could to the bathroom, House realized dejectedly that this could only end in disaster. And possibly Wilson laughing at him.

Double shit.


	2. Sports Metaphors

**DISCLAIMER**: I forgot to put this up in the last chapter, so whoopsie. Luckily I haven't been sued yet. Alas, House and his merry band of sexy male bretheren cannot be owned. I tried. Deeeeenied.

**A/N: **Leave it to me to leave y'all with a cliffhanger, but I have exams tomorrow. Ick. Anyways, thank you SO much for the positive feedback; it totally made me want to write some more. This is my first House fic, so the fact that even one person likes it makes me giddy. Yes, giddy. So, lemme know whatcha think of this latest chapter. I'm still trying to decide whether or not to turn this into a long story or keep it to a few chapters. What do you guys think?

* * *

The cold water he splashed onto his face did nothing to calm his frayed nerves. He'd _slept_ with her? Was he high? Drunk? Sleepscrewing?

No, he thought grimly. Just really fuckin' stupid.

The bathroom, as much as he wished it weren't so, was no match for the kitchen. House sighed and unlocked the door, keeping his eyes to the floor as he limped to the refrigerator. He could tell Cameron was still sitting in his bed, following his movements with her green eyes. Self-consciously, House realized he was still naked. He grabbed a par of boxers thrown haphazardly across the floor before turning the corner and finally getting her eyes off of his back.

The doctor's kitchen was just as empty of nourishment as it had been for the last three days, hence the takeout boxes sitting open on the counter. He grabbed an open, but not quite bad, carton of orange juice and poured two glasses. Hooking his cane over an elbow, he limped back into the bedroom, still avoiding her piercing gaze.

"Here," he muttered, pushing the drink into her hands. "Drink this."

Cameron looked thoughtfully at the glass before placing on the bedside table, untouched. House did the same; orange juice plus morning breath equals toxin gas. The two sat quietly, he squirming under her stare and she chewing her lip and staring. She was still nude under his sheets, he'd noticed. House suppressed the odd bubbly feeling the thought put in his stomach.

"So…how 'bout them Red Sox," he tried.

She smiled slightly but continued to watch her boss. "I hate sports metaphors."

House tutted and finally raised his eyes to her. "Nice try, but that wasn't a metaphor. But I am happily surprised that you even recognized a sports team. How'd you know who the Sox were? Gabe Kaplar get your panties in a twist?"

"If I was wearing any, I'd let you know," she replied, grinning when she watched him gulp and drop his eyes once more. "And," she continued, "That was a sports metaphor. It meant 'gee, I probably shouldn't have gotten wasted, called over the female employee with a monstrous crush on me, kiss her senseless and proceed to sleep with her twice if I was going to regret it in the morning." Somehow House doubted he'd ever do that, even when he was drunk, but he decided to play along.

"Wow, you got all that from a baseball team? Ever consider a job in the political analyst business? Imagine what you could glean from an entire health care bill!"

He threw up his hands and stood up, putting some distance between their bodies.

"Why me?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean, 'why me'? I suppose I could have called Chase. I've always wanted to have sex with a Wombat." He paused and tapped his finger on his chin. "Do you think that would count as bestiality?"

Cameron sighed, frustrated. "I mean, why did you call _me_? I'm sure you have ten other women on speed-dial, or Wilson, if you wanted to talk with your mouth and not your penis. You knew I liked you. What were you thinking?"

House frowned, and turned to her, matching her glare with his own. "I have an idea," he said. "How about you tell me what really happened, instead of this Academy Award winning-tale."

The deer-caught-in-headlights look she held on her pretty face was enough to tell House what he'd already suspected. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, mildly amused by the guilty way she wrung her hands.

"I…uh…I mean…you," she stuttered, embarrassed.

House grinned. "I've heard I can make women wet themselves, but ask a simple question and I have them speechless. Oh dear, I can feel the power rushing to my head."

Cameron stayed silent. He sighed and sank back onto the mattress.

"Allison," he began, knowing she'd sit up and listen if she used her first name. "I am not a forgetful drunk. It takes a whole lot of alcohol for to me to be unable to remember the previous night. In fact the last time that happened was…" He trailed off, thinking. "Well, never, actually. So, I'll ask you again. What the hell happened?"


	3. Fasten Your Seatbelts

**Disclaimer: **You guys know the drill. Don't own 'em. Wish I did. O how life hath smited me.

**A/N**: I apologize in advance for the skipping around time-wise. I hate having trite "flashbacks" in my stories, so bear with me. A line across means another time change has happened. And I'll tell you in advance, this entire chapter takes place before 1 and 2.

"You know what's worse than telling someone they have AIDS?" Cameron groused as she stormed into the office. Foreman and Chase looked up from their card game. "Telling someone with anger issues that they have AIDS. He threw his water on me. And then he threw the cup."

Indeed, her face and hair were soaking wet, droplets of water snaking their way down the front of her lab coat and dripping off the end of her nose. She huffed angrily and stalked to the sink to grab some paper towels. Chase snorted and looked back at his hand; Foreman just shook his head.

"Gee, thanks for the sympathy guys. I appreciate it."

"The guy has already thrown three temper-tantrums, Cameron. A less…sympathetic doctor would have stayed by the door. Or at least out of range of his throwing arm," said Foreman.

"So, what?" she asked. "You guys think I'm _too_ nice?"

"Yes," they replied simultaneously. Cameron sighed and continued cleaning her water-smudged glasses.

"I fold," Chase declared, throwing his cards to the table. Foreman grinned gleefully and pulled in the pot of quarters. "I hate this game. Why do we have to play poker, huh?"

"Because you suck at it and I always win."

Chase blinked. "Oh. Well. That makes sense."

"It also begs the question: why do you play it anyway?" House muttered. Walking to the coffee pot, the doctor poured himself a cup and eyed Chase over the rim of the mug. "I'll tell you why. Because you Brits are such pushovers when it comes to us manly Americans." He took a sip, dutifully ignoring the annoyed snorts from both Chase and Cameron.

"I suppose I could remind you yet again that I'm _Australian_, but that wouldn't do anything, would it?

"Nope." With that, House hobbled back into his office and stuck his headphones in his ears.

"I need a towel," Cameron said finally.

"I need a change machine," Foreman replied.

Chase lifted his head from the table and looked at the other two ducklings.

"I need a drink."

* * *

"Five, four, three, two, one. Ladies and gentlemen, it is officially Saturday and yet another House-free weekend," Foreman declared before gulping down the rest of his beer. "We should celebrate with more Heineken."

Cameron rolled her eyes but accepted the new bottle Foreman passed her. "He's not that bad, you guys."

"Right, and Hitler was just misunderstood."

"I can't believe you just compared House to a racist war-monger."

"Face it, Cameron," Chase said. "You're too in love with the man to see any of his faults."

"I am so not in love with him!" she exclaimed. Both men just stared at her, one eyebrow firmly raised. She let out a long sigh. "I'm not, okay. Leave it alone."

The doctors sat in silence for a minute or so, sipping their drinks and thinking.

"Doesn't it bug you, though?" Chase asked quietly. Cameron looked at him.

"Doesn't what bug me?"

"I mean, doesn't House bug you?" He paused thoughtfully. A crash and a drunken giggle from a corner booth momentarily broke his concentration but he turned back and finished the last of his margarita. "Have you ever noticed that he doesn't ask Foreman or me to restock the animal crackers or make sure there's coffee in the pot? And don't even say it's because we can't make coffee; frankly, neither can you." Foreman snorted, but kept his mouth shut. "Not to mention the fact that he makes you do all his paperwork and check his mail and shit. Foreman is just as OCD about that as you are, but if he went anywhere near House's desk, House would stab him with a toothpick. Doesn't that bother you? It's like he doesn't even treat you as a doctor; you're just his hired lackey."

Cameron's frown grew deeper and she glared at the Australian. "If my coordination wasn't severely impaired by this alcohol, I'd slap you. As it is, I'll have to deal with a scary growl."

Foreman let out a bark of laughter and finally entered the conversation. "You couldn't scare a kitten."

Her eyes slid to the darker man. "Stereotypes aren't nice, Eric."

"It's not a stereotype, _Allison_. It's a stone-cold fact. You are naturally a nice person, even to Hitler."

"House," she corrected.

"To-may-to, to-mah-o."

"Guys," Cameron grumbled. "Maybe I'm too nice. Is that a bad thing? No, it's not. So bite me."

"Oh, I think we hit a nerve, Robert," Foreman smirked.

"As for House," she interjected. "Has it ever occurred to you that he makes me do all those things _because_ I'm nice? You two are such assholes to him; maybe he doesn't want you guys reading his mail or making his coffee or picking up his dry-cleaning. Or _maybe_ he likes me and…okay, why are you grinning at me?"

Chase was biting his lip to hold in a chuckle. "You…you picked up his dry-cleaning?"

Cameron's cheeks burned. "Once. When he was sick! He asked me to!" Chase and Foreman collapsed into laughter, arms clutching ribs and tears running down faces. "Oh shut up. It's not that funny."

When their guffaws settled down far enough to allow the conversation to continue, Chase signaled for another drink and look pointedly at his friend.

"Cameron, he makes you run his errands because he knows that you will, no questions asked. Not because Foreman and I are abrasive, and certainly not because he has some hidden feelings for you. I'd bet you a billion dollars."

Dr. Allison Cameron surveyed the bar from her stool, taking in the other patrons, the gaudy decorations, the red-nosed bartender. She smiled lightly before turning back to her coworkers.

"I'll take that bet."

"Oh right, sure. Can you break a billion dollar bill?" Chase scoffed.

"Sorry, I left my purse at home. Would you settle for five hundred?"

"I am so in," Foreman said, rubbing his hands. "Chase?"

"Alright, Cameron. It's a bet."

"Fasten your seatbelts, boys," she replied, hopping off her stool and throwing a twenty on the counter. "We're in for a wild ride."


	4. Wesley Weston

**A/N: **Howdy folks. Sorry for the lack of updates. This chapter was ready 3 days ago, but FFN was being a douchebag and wouldn't let me upload it. Anyways, here it is. **This chapter takes place the Monday after Cameron made the bet.** Sorry for the jumpage aroundage but this is how my mind writes the story. Curse you, ADHD! lol Thank you so much for the response that I've gotten. 43 alerts! Wow! Please review this chappie; I looooove feedback. Oh dear, I'm rambling again. Enjoy!

**PLEASE INSERT MANDATORY 'I DON'T OWN HOUSE BUT I WISH I DID' DISCLAIMER HERE**

**Chapter 4**

"House!" Cuddy bellowed, her high heels clacking loudly against the polished tile floor. House cursed under his breath and glared at the elevator. It always seemed to slow down exactly when Cuddy appeared, didn't it? He'd have to have maintenance check into that.

"Don't even try to run away from me, House."

"What do you want, Cuddy?" he sighed.

"You haven't taken on a case in over a week! People are _dying_! What have you been doing?" Her voice was rising with each word; he was waiting for a windowpane to crack.

"I've given you a reason for not accepting your dumb cases, Cuddy. And at the risk of sounding repetitive, I'll say it again: they were boring."

"I don't care if you can diagnose a patient with a stick up your nose and my foot up your ass," she growled, teeth clenched. "They're still dieing and you are still my employee. I give you a case; you solve it. This is not rocket science, man!"

House rolled his eyes and stepped into the elevator that had finally arrived.

"You find me something interesting. Although, really, that foot up my ass sounds kinda kinky. Can we still do that?"

The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise, leaving a steaming Cuddy glowering at the wall. House sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. His watch read 3:00 but it felt like he'd been at the hospital for two days. Hopefully the underlings will be entertaining, he thought.

The doctor stumped to the office, fully expecting to see Cameron at his desk, Foreman stacking toothpicks and Chase doing his damn crossword. Instead, he started when he saw Cuddy writing on the whiteboard while his ducklings rushed to their seats.

"Cute trick. I am impressed," he said.

"The stairs are much faster than the elevator," she replied with her back to him. "You should try them sometime. Oh, wait. You can't. Never mind."

"Nice."

Cuddy snorted and continued writing. "16 year old boy had a seizure during his school play. His white blood count is through the roof but there's no sign of infection."

"What play?"

She looked at the man strangely. "Peter Pan. Why does it matter?"

House shrugged. "I had to make sure it wasn't Macbeth. You know what they say. Curses and all that. I'm a doctor. I need to know these things."

"Right," Foreman said. "Well, now that we've got _that_ cleared up, can we get on with this diagnosis?"

House took the marker from Cuddy and erased her chicken scratches. "Don't touch my markers."

"Seizures, ataxia, high white blood count. He also had very low blood pressure directly after the seizure but its leveled out." Cuddy paused and flipped a few pages. "Also, his blood shows very low levels of mineralcorticoids, androgens and glucocorticoids."

Cameron frowned. "Low steroid hormones usually mean adrenal insufficiency."

"He's a bit old for that, isn't he? I vote for Addison's," said Chase.

"No, I agree with Cameron," Foreman said. "Low steroid hormones plus ataxia, seizures and low blood pressure almost always means AI."

"I'm with those two," House quipped. "Chase, you lose. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars." He turned back to Cuddy. "Put him on synthetic glucocorticoids to replace the deficient adrenal steroid hormones. He'll be back to diddling the Lost Boys in no time." With that, he stole the cookie Cameron was lifting to her lips and limped to his office.

"We tried that already. He's not getting any better," Cuddy called after him. House paused.

"You need to let the medicine do its job. That takes time. I know it's not Tinkerbell, but I'm sure the boy will understand."

"He's been here for 2 weeks! This was the first case I gave to you after the COPD diagnosis. You rejected this case once already; said it was 'boring.'" House didin't like the slightly evil look that was glinting in the brunette's eyes. She continued. "Look at the damn file, House. No one can figure out what's wrong. _I_ can't even figure out what's wrong. Doesn't that feed your ego slightly?"

He turned slowly, one eyebrow firmly raised. "It's still boring." He limped back to his boss and took the file from her. "Just not quite as much as it used to be."


	5. Points For Alliteration

**A/N: **Hookay, another day, another update. The one upside to having FFN spaz out was that I'm about 3 chapters ahead. Wo0t! This chappie is a continuation on the case House got; don't worry, Chapter 6 will return once more to House and Cameron and their oopsies. That chapter is also pretty much done but I want to edit and add a little more content. So yeah. Please please please please please REVIEW! Muchos gracias, merci bien, and so on.

**Mandatory Disclaimer**: Curse you, Fox! I hate your channel but I can't stop watching House and consequently wishing I owned his yumminess. Le sigh.

**Chapter 5**

"If he's had tuberculosis, we would have told you already!" Gertrude Weston cried. "You have no idea what's wrong with him, do you? Oh Jesus, he's going to die, isn't he? My baby is going to diiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!" Her wails drowned out any attempt by Foreman to reassure the woman. He looked helplessly to Chase, his eyes pleading for assistance. Chase was content to just watch, but when Ms. Weston grabbed handfuls of Foreman's lab coat and blew her nose on his lapels, the Australian sighed and called for a nurse.

House had decided to keep the AI kid on the steroids until they figured out why their treatment wasn't working. Barely four hours after accepting the case, Wesley Weston went blind and couldn't move his lower extremities. House had suggested showing the boy porn to see if _that_ part of him worked; Cuddy had given him a look and flicked his nose.

"What do I always say when the patient gets worse when they should be getting better?" House had asked his ducklings rhetorically after kicking Cuddy out of the office for 'abusive working conditions.'

"'Someone is lying,'" all three promptly replied.

"Excellent; I have sufficiently trained you. Now, go be good little servants and redo the history. Foreman, you can break into the house-." He'd been interrupted by his beeper bursting to life, followed by three more obnoxious beepers. "It appears little Wesley is dying again," he muttered after reading the message.

Flash forward 5 minutes to Cameron administering an anticonvulsant to stop a seizure that was powerful enough to send the kid flailing out of his bed and onto the floor. Foreman had been assigned to inform the sobbing mother that they truly had no idea why her son was twitching like a jumping bean and that they would have to do a more in depth patient history. The woman collapsed into a hysterical heap and had to be injected with a tranquilizer to quiet her screams. They would be getting no information from her until the drugs wore off.

"Okay," House declared to his dejected team as they sat staring at the whiteboard. "We've got another symptom."

"Seizures are already up there," Cameron mumbled.

"Usually when one thinks of seizures, one doesn't picture a kid pulling an Exorcist."

"So…what? Violent seizures. That helps us not at all," Foreman groaned, throwing his pen to the table.

"I still say it's Addison's." House glared at Chase.

"When I need a diagnosis from a numbskull, I guess I know who to ask. It's _not_ Addison's! We did the tests!"

"How can you be sure they're right?!"

"They're right." He punctuated his statement with a slam of his fist on the table. The conversation was over. "So, it's not adrenal insufficiency. What is it?"

Cameron shook her head. "This doesn't make sense. AI explains everything and all the tests support that diagnosis."

"And yet he's not getting better. Gosh darnnit, this disease isn't playing fair!" House snarked. "C'mon people. What else?"

"Um, Wegner's?" Foreman offered.

"Wesley Weston has Wegner's. Points for alliteration, but no."

"Vasculitis?"

"He'd have dysphasia by now."

"Cushing's? It would explain the AI symptoms."

"But he'd be _gaining_ weight, not dropping it like crazy," Foreman countered.

"That doesn't always happen, though," Cameron insisted.

House tapped his chin. "I'll buy it." He wrote it up. "Anything else?"

"Meningitis."

"Brain stem infarction." That was Chase.

"Would've seen it in the MRI."

"Do another MRI," House interjected. "And a pet scan. Check for muscle death in the brain. And I want blood work done for the vasculitis and a lumbar puncture for the meningitis. Do a dexamethasone suppression test for the Cushing's."

The doctors gathered their things and left to do his bidding. They wouldn't come up with anything. That he knew. This disease was tricky…

"What the hell is wrong with you, little boy?" House whispered.


	6. What's Missing?

**A/N:** Yay for longish chapters! And thank you for the responses for the last couple installments guys; I live off of reviews. It's an addiction. Seriously. I tried to go cold turkey and I got the shakes. Man. Anywho, enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own yaddah yaddah yaddah

**EDIT: **One very kind reviewer, Enfleurage, pointed out some errors in my medical jargon. No surprise there; I don't have a medical degree (and a very limited knowledge of first aid lol) so I'm sure there will be some mistakes. If anyone sees any, feel free to point them out. I'd like this story to be as medically accurate as possible. Anyway, the mistakes have been fixed. Thanks again, Enfleurage!

**  
**

**Chapter 6**

"Interesting," House muttered, stroking his faux beard thoughtfully. "This is a very interesting development."

Cameron blinked. "Wait, you're not mad? I basically just admitted to seducing you to win a bet. Doesn't that make you feel like shit?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get to those obnoxious 'used' feelings soon enough; right now, however, I'm too caught up in how out of character this behavior is from you. It's very exciting, if you must know."

"It's not _that_ out of character, House," she grumbled. She readjusted the blanket on her chest and fell back against the pillows.

"Well," he replied slowly, "let's see. You lied about having feelings for me, and Allison Cameron does not lie. You got drunk. You probably drove back to your house drunk. You made a bet about whether or not you could get me to admit _my _feelings for _you_. You slept with your boss. You lied again when I asked what happened last night. You have yet to explain to me why I can't remember anything which leads me to believe that that was your doing, **_and_**-," he paused for air, a devilish glint in his eyes. "And I'm looking around because I've yet to see a used condom." He smirked at her sharp intake of breath. "I'd say that's pretty out of character, Cameron."

She massaged her temples lightly, trying to ignore the increasing pressure building behind her eyes. "Look, I can explain all of it if you would let me-."

"But that's not the part that makes me most interested," interrupted House. "I'm still stuck on the fact that you're going to be getting money for sleeping with me. That either makes you my prostitute…or that makes me your bitch." He chuckled and rubbed his palms together. "Tell the truth, I'm not to broken up about either."

Cameron gaped at her boss, eyes wide and face pale. "I am _not_ your prostitute!" she yelled.

"Oh, goodie! Does that mean I'm your bitch?"

"No!"

"Damn. Are you upset about that, Cameron?"

"What? Of course not!"

"But you are upset."

"No, House, I am not upset," she growled.

"Then why are you yelling? You wanna know what I think?" He sat down beside her, gracefully ignoring her huffed 'no.' "I think you're upset because it's finally sinking in. You're finally realizing that either you compromised your morals and slept with me to win a stupid bet, or you made a stupid bet so that you could compromise your morals and sleep with me. Completely guilt free! Only problem is…" At this he stopped and leaned down, mimicking her action from just minutes before. "That guilt is starting to come back and bite you in your beautiful ass." He kissed his own trail of guilt down her jaw, dropping one last one at the corner of her mouth. She squirmed and turned from him, her bare back glowing in the early morning sunlight. "So, which is it, Allison?"

"Can't it be a little bit of both?" she replied, her answer muffled slightly by the pillow she had her face buried in.

"No. It can't be."

"Which do you want it to be?"

House pretended to think about it before grinning obnoxiously. "Which will get me more sex? A cold shower and a hand just aren't the same as the real thing. You know how it is."

Cameron groaned and pulled the comforter over her head. "You're a real dick sometimes, you know that?" she said, voice muffled by the blanket.

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" he retorted.

She was quiet for a moment. Finally, she poked her head out from underneath the comforter and sighed.

"Do you want to hear the rest of this story or not?"

"Ooh, yes! Will there be faeries and unicorns?"

"I am going to _kill _you if you do not shut the fuck _up_!" she yelled.

House cocked an eyebrow and smirked at the woman. "I love pissing you off. It's like watching a midget try to wrestle a bear."

"Based on last night, I'm deducing that you are the midget, yes?"

"Touché."

"May I continue?"

He gestured vaguely. "You have won my silence. For now, at least."

"Oh joy."

* * *

"Negative for meningitis," Cameron said, her glasses perched on the end of her nose as she squinted at the print-out. 

"Same for vasculitis," Chase called from the other side of the lab. "Either Foreman found something, or we're back to square one."

"Foreman found something."

The neurologist strode briskly to Cameron's side and stuck the x-ray in her face. She frowned and examined the picture.

"I see nothing."

"Look at his brain," he insisted.

She leaned in even closer and scrutinized it further…and gasped.

"What the hell is that?"

"What?" Chase asked from Cameron's other side. "I don't see anything. Someone tell me what it is."

"Relax, Chase. This is not the third grade. You'll get your turn when Cameron is finished." Chase glared at Foreman and crossed his arms over his chest.

inthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenight

"We found white matter abnormalities in his brain," Foreman reported.

House did not respond, instead continuing to balance his tennis ball on his forehead.

"Amazing, House. You'll be replacing circus seals in no time." Wilson threw a pencil at his friend, smirking when the ball fell to the ground and bounced across the room. "Now pay attention."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to throw pointy things?" he muttered.

"I think I missed that memo. Either listen or no dessert after dinner."

Cameron rolled her eyes and stepped between the pair. "Look at his MRI. Screwy white matter could be caused by MS."

"Or Alzheimer's," Chase added. Foreman rolled his eyes.

"He's 16, not 60, dumbass."

"It could also be subcortical leukoencephalopathy," Wilson supposed.

All three ducklings looked skeptical.

"Binswanger's? Unlikely, he's not insane."

"I was just saying." He held up his hands and sat back in his chair.

"I think we should test for MS. I know we did a lumbar puncture already, but there are other ways to test for it."

"Fine. Do a contrast MRI of his spine and look for lesions and get him a VEP and a SEP." House stopped and thought for a second. "Hell, while you're in there, check for lupus and Lyme disease. Both look like MS on MRIs."

The underlings nodded and left to follow his directions. Wilson stood to leave.

"Wait, Wilson," House said quietly.

James Wilson paused and turned to look at his friend. The diagnostician was staring hard at his cane, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

"The Zoloft isn't working," he whispered.

"You've got to give it time, House. The antidepressants have to be in your blood stream for a while before you start to feel the effects."

"Thanks for clearing that up. I totally wouldn't have known that since I'm not a doctor or anything."

Wilson ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip. "It has been a month; the medicine should be working by now."

A long silence hung in the air; outside, House could hear a bird singing and the screaming of an approaching ambulance signaled yet another sick person about to enter the hospital. Wonderful, he thought.

"So…what do I do?" he finally asked.

Wilson wasn't sure which he was more surprised by: that House had actually approached him and admitted he was depressed, or that he was also willing to admit that a few pills wouldn't cure everything.

"I suppose we can try Prozac or Valium. I'm not a shrink; I don't know how to prescribe this stuff."

"I'm not seeing a psychiatrist."

"Then I don't know what to tell you! I can't psycho-analyze you, House. Giving you drugs for depression that isn't confirmed is really stupid on my part. Maybe this is one of your little tests; maybe you don't even have depression! And do you know what the side-effects could be? They could react negatively with your Vicodin, you could have an allergic reaction, you could go into congestive heart failure-!"

"I could develop an addiction." Wilson nodded. That was the part that scared him most. His best friend was slowly pushing everyone out of his life. Another addiction…well, he was afraid he'd lose the miserable bastard completely.

"Prozac has a low addiction percentage in clinical tests. I'll have a prescription filled for you today."

House twirled his cane once and looked out the window.

Wilson knew it was the closest to a thank you he'd ever get.


	7. Blink And You'll Miss Something

**A/N: **Oh, I am _so_ evil. That is all. ::skips off giggling::

**Disclaimer:** Gregory, oh Gregory. Wherefor art thou, Gregory? Deny thy Foxhood and refuse to not let me own you; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, then I'll stalk you anyways.

**Chapter 7**

"Start the kid on intravenous immunoglobulin."

Chase gaped at his boss. "Did you not hear what I said? The tests for MS were inconclusive."

"Inconclusive does not mean negative, does it?" House asked. "Just because we don't know doesn't mean he doesn't have it. Start treatment or he's paralyzed."

"If it isn't MS, he could die!"

"If it is, he will die."

inthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenight

"Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling?" Mrs. Weston whispered to her son as she stroked his hand.

"Okay. I'm sweating like a pig, though," he replied feebly. Wesley tried to smile, but he was too weak to do anything but mumble answers. "What do the doctors think is wrong with me?"

"Don't you worry about that, honey. You just concentrate on getting better." She was glad his eyes were closed; hers were welling with tears. She leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead. Suddenly, the machines connected to her baby boy sprung to life. A nurse sprinted into the room, followed closely by the doctors treating him.

"What's going on?" she cried. Someone was tugging on her arm, forcing her out of the room. And still the machines screamed.

"Respiratory functions are shot. He's got fluid in his lungs," said Foreman.

"He can't breathe! We need to intubate," Cameron shouted.

"He's bleeding out!" Indeed, Wesley Weston's mouth was filling with blood that spilled like wine from the boy to the sheet.

"Bag! Bag!" Chase passed her an oxygen bag, and all eyes turned to the screen that blinked the patient's vitals. They watched as his breathing leveled out. In the hallway, a terrified Mrs. Weston howled.

inthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenight

"He had a pulmonary edema caused by an adverse reaction to the IVIG we gave him. I told you so," Chase reported, almost smugly.

"Oops," was his only response.

Foreman dropped his head to the table, enjoying the resounding bang it caused. "So, it's obviously not MS," he groaned. "What the hell is wrong with this kid?"

"Now would be a really good time for you to get all glassy eyed and give us a brilliant explanation, House," said Cameron.

He smirked. "You think I'm brilliant?"

"No, your ideas are brilliant. You're just an ass." Foreman and Chase grinned. There was no way she'd be winning this bet at the rate she was going. Mentally, they started tabulating purchases for their winnings.

"Fine," House sighed. He brought his fingers to his temples and pursed his lips. "I see…I see a world where only the boss can insult others." He blinked. "Do you think that place exists?"

"Funny."

"I though so."

The two glared at each other. Blue clashed with green, neither party backing down as the seconds stretched to minutes.

"If it was Addison's," House muttered, still scowling at Dr. Cameron, "then it would have to be Addison's _and_ another disease causing the other symptoms. Do you still stand behind that diagnosis, Chase?"

He shrugged. "If the Addison's was caused by metastatic cancer, it could conceivably account for the seizures, and the white matter in his brain."

"Alright. Test for it." He looked out the window, breaking the tension between he and his employee.

"We would've seen a tumor in his MRI," Cameron noted.

"Alright…test for it."

She huffed and stormed out of the office, her heels clacking loudly down the hall.

* * *

"I'm confused about something." 

"The Great Gregory House is confused? I think the Earth has fallen off its axis."

"What were the terms of this bet?"

Cameron tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and picked at her nails. "We never really set down any rules. I assumed I had to get you to admit you had feelings for me."

"Because I asked you to pick up my laundry once?"

"It was stupid, okay? I know!" she exploded. "But maybe for once, House, you could try being a little sensitive. I was drunk, and I couldn't exactly say, 'Oh gee, guys, you were right, I'm a sucky doctor. House just keeps me around because I know how he likes his coffee!'"

"Why not?"

She gave him a look. "Because I have some dignity and I'm stubborn. I know that's a foreign concept for you but do try to understand."

"So it's beneath you to admit failure when it comes to one of your little projects, but it's perfectly alright to sleep with your boss for some cash. You took advantage of me, Cameron. I could lose my job!"

"So could I! Fine, I took advantage of you. You should be proud! I'm just like you," she screamed back.

"Dammit, that's not the point! I'm the superior. I should've had enough control to -."

"Is that why you're so pissed? Because you couldn't control yourself?"

"Of course that's why I'm angry! It's all I have!" he roared.

She looked away. They sat in silence for a while.

"You can relax. You still have control," she whispered.

"Blinking doesn't make sex go away, Allison."

"Yes, it does."

"Really? Does that trick work for parking tickets, too?" He rolled his eyes. "We had _sex_, not-."

"No, we didn't."

He spun around and examined the woman in his bed. "What did you say?"

"We didn't sleep together."


	8. In The Still Of The Night

**A/N: **I am a terrible person for making y'all wait so long for this chapter, and an even worse one for having it be so short, but I figured it was better than nothing, right? Anyways, I promise to be a better updater! **This chapter takes place after Wilson and House's little "chat."**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the beautiful creature that is House, nor his band of merry bretheren. Alas, I weep.

**Chapter 8**

House grimaced at the bitter taste of the pill as it slid down his throat. Maybe he'd been too used to the Vicodin, but he'd never swallowed such a disgusting tablet in his life.

Or that could just be the copious amounts of vodka he'd already consumed. Who could tell these days?

True to his word, Wilson had had a prescription for Prozac waiting for him on his desk by the time he'd finished watching General Hospital with a Coma Guy. Wilson was always the speedy type. It was barely six in the evening, and House was a third of the way through the bottle. Shit, and here he'd thought he didn't have an addiction to narcotics. He sighed and tried to imagine himself in a happy place where scotch poured freely from waterfalls and Angelina Jolie skipped back and forth topless. A place where medicine actually fucking _worked_ instead of dissolving quickly and having no effect whatsoever on the increasingly dark curtain that seemed to be falling in front of his eyes.

Oh, fuck, happy place. Right.

Growling, he hoisted himself up from the couch and limped to his liquor cabinet. Nothing like drowning one's sorrows in a tumbler of pungent alcohol. His eyes watered as the liquid traced a burning path down his throat and settled in a pool of heat in his belly.

It had started a few weeks after Stacey left. House was reluctant to pinpoint his pushing her away as the cause of his depression, but in his mind, it made perfect sense. After Stacey, his world started to fall apart. Cases of any kind ceased to interest him, GH bored him to tears and no amount of prostitutes could cure his insufferable (and consequently, unexplainable) thirst for human contact. Real, meaningful human contact. He was sick of staring at weakly smiling mothers as they coaxed a crying child to "let the nice man look at the boo-boo," and he was tired of pretending that it didn't affect him when he saw Cuddy and Wilson exchanging meaningful glances.

He was fed up with acting like he didn't care about people. Like he wasn't jealous.

But most of all, he was afraid that he might actually be stuck in this unforgiving rut; this façade of sarcastic jabs and mean-spirited comments. He was afraid that any move to change his ways would be met with suspicious eyes. He was afraid he would actually end up becoming the person he pretended to be: a stony, uncaring bastard.

House was convinced he wasn't; not yet, at least.

And so, he tried to be nicer, and as he suspected, no one actually believed it. Tell the truth, neither did he.

So he asked Wilson for anti-depressants. Fuck, he was pathetic. Pathetic, and such a dick head that not even 14 Zolofts could dig him out of his hole.

House poured the last of his whiskey down his throat. He stood there for a while, listening to a cricket chirp outside as the first stars began to appear in the sky. Wincing when his thigh protested, he sank slowly to the floor, pulling a pill bottle from the pocket of his warm jeans. If these babies didn't at least dull the pain in his heart, he didn't know what would.

Thank the Lord for the Mexicans.

Zach had been surprised when House had asked for Rohypnol, instead of his usual fix of cocaine. He never would have the thought the doctor to be into date rape. Nonetheless, he'd been happy to supply one of his best customers with the request, unaware that someone would actually want the pills for their intended cause: anti-depressant.

House knocked back three, and crawled to the couch to let the drugs to their jobs. Five minutes later, he was unconscious.

Outside, the cricket finished its song and hopped away, into the still of the night.


	9. Came To This

**A/N: Oh god, I am the most awful person in the world. Sooooo sorry it took so long for me to update, I got sidetracked. looks guilty Anyway, apologies for the slightly vague chapter, but all will be explained soon, me pretties. Remember to review, because it makes me happy. Pweeese?**

** Disclaimer: I do not own House. Don't you people know that slavery is illegal in all 50 states?  
**

* * *

**  
**

**Chapter 9**

"What the hell is this?" Cameron yelled, throwing the magazine at Chase. It was opened to the electronics section, and an iPod nano had been circled in bright red marker. Chase barely glanced at it before tossing back to the woman and going back to his charts.

"That would be what I plan on buying with my winnings."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You'd better be talking about some other bet you've taken."

"Nope." He smirked in her direction. "You've got two days, Cameron. And then I'll be relaxing with my brand new iPod."

"What?! We never set a time limit!" Her shrieks brought Foreman into the conference room. Immediately, she whirled on him. "When did we decide on a time limit?"

Foreman shrugged and pick at his nails. "_We_ didn't. Chase and I just figured you could use a little…encouragement. You know, get this bet over with so we could get our money."

Cameron gaped. First at Foreman, then at Chase. "You…I…you can't just add to a bet like that!"

"It's a good thing House went home already," Chase muttered. "He'd have beaten you with his cane for saying that."

"And I bet she would have liked it!" The two men cracked up, oblivious to the anger that was boiling up inside their coworker.

"I'm going home! I hope you both choke on your tongues!" Cameron stomped out of the office, grabbed her coat from her locker and stormed to her car. It took every ounce of strength in her to resist keying Foreman's car. Bastard.

It was only six thirty, but her eyes felt like lead weights and she just wanted to sleep. Well, she'd rather be cuddling with House by a warm fire, but as that would never happen in any dimension, she supposed sleep would have to do.

House.

He'd left the hospital around four, and his sad eyes and slow gait had not escaped her attention. She had contemplated going after him, but by the time she'd made up her mind, he was long gone. Damn indecisiveness.

Her thoughts drifted once more to the drunken bet. God, that was stupid. Unfortunately, Chase and Foreman would never let her back out now. And she _was_ rather curious; why_ did_ House insist on her making his coffee or standing quite so close? It was all a confusing mess, a jumble of muted flirtations and unspoken innuendos. Frankly, she was tired of it. Allison Cameron wanted answers. And this bet was just a proactive way to get them.

Yes, she'd just keep telling herself that while she ignored the guilty feelings that churned in her gut.

Stopping at a red light, she felt her determination rise once more. Fuck this, she could do it. She'd prove Chase and Foreman wrong, she'd prove 'em all wrong. House liked her. He must. Maybe. And even if he didn't, well, at least she'd know for certain. The light turned green and she found herself pulling a u-ie and barreling down a road she'd grown all too familiar with.

When her fist met with House's door, she was expecting to hear piano drifting through the wood, just like always. There was none. Nor was there an answer. _Knock knock._

"House?" Cameron called quietly. She turned the knob slowly, praying to a god she didn't believe in that everything was all right. Call it a sixth sense, but she could always tell when something bad was happening.

The door creaked open, and a soft breeze from a cracked window rustled through her hair. Her eyes took in the bottle of scotch sitting open on the piano and the cane that had rolled under a hall table. And the body of her boss collapsed on the floor.

"House!" she cried, rushing to his side. Quickly checking his pulse, her heart skipped a beat knowing that his was still pumping, and that he was still breathing, though shallowly at best. The pill bottle he clutched in his right hand confirmed her suspicions of an overdose. Fuckin' House.

Somehow, she deduced somewhat frantically, she had to get House into his bed. Well, really, she didn't have to, but her conscience was insisting upon it. As she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him to a sitting position, Cameron couldn't help but shiver when her fingers brushed the bare skin of his stomach.

She tugged brusquely. House did not move. She tried dragging him across the floor by his arms, but abandoned the tactic when she remembered how easily she might dislocate his shoulders. She'd almost worked up a sweat. Legs, she thought. Pull him by the legs. Cameron whispered an apology before gripping his ankles and pulling him down the hall. House would be feeling that in his bad thigh tomorrow. By the time she reached his bedroom, exhausted, Allison noticed his pants had been pulled down to his groin, revealing tanned skin and boxer-briefs.

In her mind, she formed an idea. A very bad idea. She ignored her ethical meter, though her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt…


	10. Get Out

**A/N:** Wow, guys. This story has gotten over twenty thousand hits! Thank you, everyone, for checking this out and reading and reviewing and being awesomeness. It makes me feel all fuzzy when I think that ITSOTN has gotten so much positive feedback. Okay, enough with the gushing, but seriously, thanks. This latest chapter was a bit difficult to write because I wanted to get the dialogue perfect. Hopefully I succeeded. Y'all are going to HATE me for this one, but you should know by now that I am the Queen of Cruel Cliffhangers. Hey, alliteration::cough:: Sorry. Anways, read, review and enjoy!

**Story Disclaimer: **Uh, the chapter is a bit gross and the language towards the end gets pretty explicit. You have been warned.

* * *

**  
**

**Chapter 10**

Foreman sighed and turned on the microphone. His voice echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the walls and filling the room.

"Thanks, Wesley, we've got what we need. We're going to bring you out now."

The boy managed a small whimper from inside the MRI machine. Chase was still glaring at the images the machine had produced.

"Give it up, Chase," Cameron muttered from her place at the door. "There is definitely no cancer in this kid. You're just pissed because your diagnosis is wrong"

He grunted and continued his futile search. "I am _not_ wrong. It's the only thing that makes sense!"

Rolling his eyes, Foreman turned off the screen and stood. Chase opened his mouth to object when a loud rattling pervaded the observation room. All three doctors turned as one to stare open-mouthed at the one thing they'd never seen a patient do. Wesley Weston was shoveling his own defecation into his mouth, having climbed out of the machine.

It was Cameron who reacted first. She bolted into the room, gagging when the overwhelming scent of feces assaulted her nostrils. Grabbing his wrists, Cameron wrenched his hands from floor and away from the diarrhea that was quickly soaking through the knees of her pants where she knelt.

"My food, slut! Mine!" Wesley howled before biting her wrist and pushing her away. She barely noticed the blood trickling down her forearm, focusing instead on the snarling teenager who was obviously experiencing some sort of psychosis. Foreman rushed past her; the Australian was screaming into a phone for a nurse and some tranquilizers. Apparently he hadn't noticed that Wesley had ripped the tubes in his arm out. As Foreman reached out slowly to secure his shoulders, the boy's insane growls transformed into screams of pain, rising in volume and octave. Cameron half expected the glass observational window to shatter. He began to convulse on the floor, pounding on his lower legs and sweating profusely. Suddenly, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he was still.

inthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenightinthestillofthenight

His ducklings walked into his office, and House immediately noticed that all three had changed into scrubs. Cameron's wrist was wrapped in gauze, and they all smelled like…

"Did I slip laxatives in your drinks and forget about it?" He received only glares.

"Wesley had a severe Addisonian crisis. He defecated all over the floor of the MRI room, and then he…er." Cameron paused, not sure how to continue.

"The kid started eating his own crap," Foreman finished for her. House smirked.

"And you three did what?"

"I tried to grab his wrists, and he called me a slut and bit me."

"Bit of a potty-mouth, is he?" He giggled at his own joke.

"Right," Chase continued. "He was experiencing psychosis, then had severe pain in his lower legs before he fainted. His blood pressure was dangerously low, as well. All signs point to an Addisonian crisis. Which was _my_ diagnosis!"

"No, you said he had Addison's caused by cancer. It's different," Cameron argued. "And there was no cancer in him."

"Whatever, the point is, this is Addison's."

House clicked his pen against his teeth, blocking out the fighting playing out just feet away.

"Addison's doesn't account for the violent seizures or the fluff in his brain," he muttered. Cameron looked triumphantly at Chase. "But it is the best diagnosis, so far." Chase grinned at Cameron.

"What do you think, Foreman?" House asked. The neurologist glanced up, finger still in his ear where he'd been rattling around.

"Huh? Sorry, could you repeat, please? My ears have been wringing since Wesley screamed in my face. I swear, dogs all over New Jersey sat up and looked around after that…what?" He trailed off, noticing House's wide stare focusing on his ear.

"I know that look," Cameron said. "That's your 'Eureka' stare."

He brushed past her, limping as fast as he could to the elevator. Three pairs of footsteps clacked after him. Stepping into the elevator, House pressed Wesley's floor number and leaned on his cane. His fellows were standing outside the doors, giving him confused looks.

"I wonder what part he had in Peter Pan," he said, with a wink. And then the doors closed, leaving two men and a woman scratching their heads and letting out frustrated groans.

* * *

"You did **_WHAT_**?!" House bellowed. His chest was heaving and he couldn't get enough air to his lungs. A vein in his neck bulged; his fingernails dug in the skin of his palms. 

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" She collapsed against the headboard, swiping at the torrent of salty tears that were soaking her cheeks.

"Fuck, Cameron, how was this supposed to work? How did you think I would react?"

"Please stop yelling," she whimpered. House whirled on her.

"No! No, no, no, no! You have lost all of your authority to make requests of me. Shit, you lost everything." He lowered his voice. "You screwed up everything."

"Dammit, House, if you'd let me explain-."

He let out a bark of laughter, devoid of any humor. It was cold. His blue eyes had hardened to ice, piercing her skin with every glare.

"You've done quite enough explaining already, don't you think? You looked me straight in the eye and _lied_ to me. You manipulated your conniving self into this situation with plenty opportunities to _explain_. No more chances!"

"Everyone lies, House! You lie!" Cameron screamed back.

"Don't you dare try to turn this on me! I lie, yes, but I do it for a reason!" Their voices were getting louder and louder; she was sure someone was bound to hear them soon. Somehow, it didn't really matter anymore.

"You do it for yourself! Every lie you spit out, it's to get what _you_ want. How can you be so self-righteous to condemn anyone who plays by your rules? Because that's what I was doing!" Her tears had dried. Now, as she glared wrathfully at her boss, her anger grew. Towards him, towards herself, towards her colleagues who'd antagonized her in the first place. Her entire world was crumbling; she needed someone to blame. She stood and stormed in front of the pacing man in front of her, no longer caring, or even noticing, her nakedness.

"I would **never** do something like this!"

"You wouldn't have to!"

That stopped House in his limping tracks. Her words echoed in his mind, and his skin paled.

"All this," Cameron gestured wildly, "was my last ditch effort to be near you. You belittle and ignore me, you negate my feelings, you fuck with my head. I'm sorry for what I did, but shit, can you blame me?"

House lifted his head slowly, and she noticed his eyes had darkened, his body tensed. "Yes," he whispered. "I blame you."

She gaped, mouth open and tears resuming their flow.

"Get out. Now."

"House, don't you think we should talk about this?"

"Leave." He was shaking with absolute wrath but buried beneath it was a ball of panic and dread, which was quickly beginning to grow and spread through every particle of his being. His fists were clenched, his whole body trembled and electric pain shot up and down his arm.

"House…"

"LEAVE!" he roared, finally losing authority over his body. Cameron screamed as his fist went flying through the air and into the glass window. Pointed triangles of glass fell to the floor, slicing clean ribbons into House's hand as they went. It was so sharp he couldn't even feel the cuts – all he could do was stare at the four or five thin, neat lines of blood dripping down his hands and onto the floor which was now covered in glass.

Allison Cameron felt her legs go weak and her heart shatter like the glass that was glistening in the morning sun. "You…you were going to hit me. You wanted me to leave because you were going to hit me." When House did not attempt to deny the accusation, she grabbed her clothing and sprinted from the room, bile in her throat and fear coursing through her veins.


	11. Housian

**A/N: **Wooh, fast update! Aren't you guys proud of me? I'm proud of me. I decided this morning that I'd put y'all out of your misery, so yes, we learn what happened that night! Wooooooooooo! Um, hopefully Cameron doesn't come off to creepy, or fluffy for that matter. And yes, the chapter is bit short, but I had to stop where I did, or there'd be too much going on. Oh, I'm screwing with House's bed, and with Cameron's physical strength, I know. However, her "method" is very possible. Without giving too much away, I employed the same technique lifting a 300 pound television. I'm also not going to change the rating to M, but this guy is a bit explicit. I tend to stay away from words like 'dick' or 'cock' etc, but some things are not left to the imagination. Woah, okay, the author's note is getting rather long, so I'll leave you guys to reading. Please review and let me know if I did this chapter right. I have a niggling feeling it was too...weird?

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"You win, guys," Cameron croaked the next day. Foreman and Chase looked up, surprised to see five hundred dollars sitting before them. The neurologist opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he saw her face.

Allison Cameron, in his professional opinion, looked like death fallen over. Her skin was pale and gaunt, large bags were nestled beneath two dull eyes, and the corners of her mouth seemed permanently turned down.

"Five hundred was what we agreed, wasn't it?" she said in response to his shocked stare. Foreman nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"What happened, Cameron? Did someone die?" Chase asked with wide eyes.

She sighed, running a hand through her uncombed hair. "Nothing, Chase. Absolutely nothing. You guys were right, I was wrong. House hates me." She paused. "And I hate him."

* * *

"Well, damn," Wilson exhaled. House nodded.

The office fell silent, each man absorbed in his own thoughts. A prescription sat half-filled on Wilson's desk where he'd left it when House had burst into the room and sat in a chair, glaring angrily at the floor. It took much persuading to get him to explain what had gotten him so riled up, but when the story was out, Wilson could understand his friend's frustration.

"What are you going to do?" he asked after sufficient time had passed.

House shrugged. "What _can_ I do? For the first time in my life, I'm lost."

* * *

She took her time with each button, marveling in the hard surface of his skin. Her hands caressed every inch of his torso. Every freckle was seen, every hair stroked. As she carefully slipped off his shirt, his biceps bulged against the powder blue sleeves. Next came his pants. She closed her eyes and pushed away the conscience that kept repeating what she already knew. Yes, this was wrong. Yes, she shouldn't do this.

It was her conscience's fault she was in the situation in the first place. Besides, she'd never get another chance; might as well grab the opportunity while she could. That was her reasoning, and she was sticking with it.

Her shaking hands reached for the brown leather belt. Unbuckling it slowly, Cameron concentrated on not letting her eyes drift up, at the top of the bulge in his briefs that had been revealed when she'd dragged him into the room. Finally, after the belt had been slipped off, there was nothing left to do but pull down the zipper and tug the brown slacks off her boss's lean hips.

She gulped.

Cameron could feel him through his pants, could watch as a part of House she'd never laid eyes on was uncovered with each slip of the zipper. Her breath caught in her quickly drying at the sight of the clean white briefs and the evidence of what lay underneath the cotton. And then she could take it no more. Enough with the slow bullshit. She yanked the pants of his body and sat back on her haunches.

He was beautiful.

Toned calves and tanned skin filled her vision. For a cripple, the man had one hell of a body. Even the scar that bit into his thigh was beautiful. Perhaps she was being overly sentimental, but damn if it wasn't utterly Housian: painful and angry but so inspiring of curiosity. Ever since she'd first met him, Cameron had wanted to see his scar. She wanted to know what it felt like underneath her palms, what it tasted like if she kissed it.

Just like House, she thought sadly.

Shaking her head, Cameron stood and contemplated how she would get the man into his bed. There was no way she'd be able to lift him, and, while he didn't appear to be in any imminent danger from an overdose, the pills had definitely knocked him out. Levels, it was all about levels. If she could just raise him up a few inches at a time, she could get him onto the sleigh bed that stood a foot and a half off the ground.

It took fifteen minutes. Sweat had beaded at her hairline and her arms hurt, but it was worth it. Besides, she was committed now. No backing out.

Wishing he were awake and angry that it had come to this, her clothing came off, discarded in a pile with House's. Cameron blushed, even as she gazed at his sleeping face. This was crazy. Psychotic, stalkerish even. But as she pulled his boxers off his body, it felt so right. She gasped at the manhood between his legs; long, wide, and perfect. She wondered what it looked like when he was aroused. What would it feel like clasped in her hand, or enveloped in her mouth? Would his eyes clench together tightly when she made him come, or would he stare at her in that special way that made her heart do flip-flops in her chest? Would he pound into her hard and make her scream his name, or would he pace himself, bringing her to her peak with slow, languid strokes?

Cameron blinked back a tear when she remembered that she'd probably never know. Pulling the quilt over both their naked bodies, she resigned herself to knowing that this would be the closest she would ever get to Gregory House. His heartbeat echoed in her ears with her head placed soundly on his chest and an arm across his stomach and hoped he didn't hate her in the morning.


	12. Drowning

**A/N: Okay, so, I updated. Wooh! Sorry about how short it is. I want Wesley's diagnosis to span a couple more chapters, and I feel like Cameron and House need to be separated for a while which doesn't lend itself to much action. I promise that the chapters will start picking up again. I had a lot of fun alluding to what happened in early chaps. That was fun. Maybe I'll do that again. Who knows? Not me. Anyways. Yeah, enjoy.**

* * *

**  
**

**Chapter 12**

Wesley was immensely uncomfortable. The leather straps that bound his wrists to the bed were beginning to chafe, and he wished the nurse would let him roll onto his stomach. Sedatives were the only thing that let him sleep, and even then, it was annoying to drift off when one's back is cramping. Besides, the beeping machines and the fluorescent lights overhead were distracting and slightly creepy. He didn't like having other people be able to check his heart rate with a single glance, or be able to tell if his urine was the right color. Sure, it was necessary for proper health care, but Wesley just found it rather invasive. It was the worst every time the pretty doctor walked into the room; he could literally watch as his blood pressure rose and his heart pumped a bit faster. She pretended not to notice. That was nice of her, but he wished it didn't happen in the first place. The machines, not the pretty doctor.

He liked that part.

Sighing, the boy twitched his nose in a futile effort to sate an itch. Damn hospitals. Nobody would tell him why he was strapped up like a Christmas turkey. One minute, he was feeling nauseas in the MRI, the next, he was naked and a particularly masculine nurse was giving him a sponge bath.

Mrs. White must be pissed, he thought. God knows how many rehearsals he'd missed, or how many more he'd be absent from. He was counting the days until his mother told him he'd been kicked out.

"My life is shit," he muttered, giving up on his nose.

"You have no idea how right you are, my little alliterative friend," a raspy voice replied from the doorway. Wesley yelped and whipped his head towards the voice.

"Whoa now, kid. Whiplash is a bitch when you're strapped to a bed." The strange man stepped into the room. "And don't ask me how I know that."

"Who are you?" the boy asked as he felt his heart beat slow.

"I'm your conscience. Why did you steal that candy bar, whhhhyyyy?" he moaned.

"Are you my doctor?"

He scoffed. "I'm not _your_ anything. Didn't you know slavery was illegal?"

The man contrasted drastically with the other doctors he'd seen in the hospital. No white coat, no identification card, definitely no clipboard. Well, that was a nice change. His hair was gray and uncombed, the scruff on his chin looked more like a nine o'clock shadow, and his clothes were wrinkled, from the Bob Dylan tee shirt to the dark denim jeans. And the cane. He'd never seen a doctor who needed some fixing himself before.

"What's with the cane?" Wesley questioned.

"We met through an online dating service. One date and we never looked back." House wiped a faux tear from one strikingly blue eye before limping to the bed and looming omnisciently over Wesley's head.

They stared at each other. A minute passed. Wesley's nose itched. House flicked it.

"Ow!" the boy yipped.

"Has anyone ever told you how annoyingly high-pitched your voice was?"

"Has anyone ever told you to trim your fingernails? That _hurt_!"

"Oh, grow up," House said. He pulled up a chair beside the bed and stared thoughtfully at the dents in his cane. "You were in a play, Peter Pan? What role did you have?"

"Michael Darling. Why?"

"You're playing the five year old…what does this say about you?"

Wesley sniffed. "Mom says I'm just a late bloomer."

"Dude, you're barely five feet tall, you sound like a screeching Chihuahua every time you open your mouth and," he paused before whipping back the sheets and peering under the boy's hospital gown, "I hope you don't plan on having sex anytime soon, 'cause any chick who saw Mr. Winkie here would wonder why it was more of a pe than a pe_nis_."

"What the hell? Who do you think you are? You can't just-."

House held up a hand and rolled his eyes. "I am saving your life. So shut up."

Weston's mouth snapped closed, but the glare still marred his features. The sliding door opened, signaling the arrival of the ducklings.

"Chase was right," House declared. "Chase was also wrong."

* * *

House looked up, the knocking on his office door shattering the silence like a hand through glass. Foreman pulled open the door and poked his head in.

"Wesley is about to check out; he wants to say goodbye to Cameron."

"She called in sick," he muttered quietly. His knuckles twitched.

Foreman looked concerned. "Again? This is the third day in a row! She must be really ill!"

Nursing a broken heart takes time, House thought before shaking his head as if to rid himself of the idea. She deserved what she got; if anyone should be broken hearted, it should be him.

The neurologist observed his boss, taking in the defeated posture and the bandaged fist. Something seriously screwed up took place between House and Cameron, he decided.

"Well, I'll be in the lab if you need me."

He looked up. "Huh? Did you say something?" His blue eyes were clouded over with doubt and confusion. Foreman didn't answer, instead leaving Gregory House to drown in the current of his thoughts.


	13. The Bimbo In Us All

**A/N: **Hello, people. I hope this chapter isn't too confusing. House is being introspective, and damn if it isn't hard to write such a complex character. Tell me please if I at least didn't completely fail. Oh, important note. **This entire chapter takes place before the last scene in chapter 12! The Foreman/House scene in House's office HAS NOT HAPPENED YET! **So, Wesley hasn't checked out, and Cameron hasn't called in sick. Keep this in mind. Oh...and please don't kill me for this. The FBI has relocated me to a safehouse in Nevada, but apparantly they don't know the wrath of angry HouseCam shippers lol. I promise things will look happier in the future for House and Cameron...for now? I playing God, and God is throwing a couple plagues at PPTH. MUWAHAHAHA.

PS: Reka, I added in some new stuff. Thanks for the critiques, they helped a lot.

* * *

**  
**

**Chapter 13**

_"Chase was right," House declared. "Chase was also wrong."_

Chase had managed to look both smug and confused at the same time. The resulting expression was sufficiently comic to make Wesley giggle softly. House cocked an eyebrow in the patient's direction; the laughing stopped immediately.

"Are you going to tell us what that means, or are we playing 20 Questions?" Foreman questioned impatiently.

"20 Questions. Damn, that brings back memories. Okay, animal, vegetable or mineral?"

"What?" said Cameron. "_We're_ asking _you_ questions."

"No fair! I want a turn," House insisted.

Chase scratched his head. "I'm confused." The other ducklings nodded in agreement.

"You people ruin all my fun." House rolled his eyes and limped out of the room. "What of Wesley's symptoms are consistent with adrenal insufficiency?"

"You have to ask a yes or no question!" Chase said, before receiving a sound hit upside the head from Foreman.

"Severe leg pain, diarrhea, hypotension, psychosis, numbness, blindness and unconsciousness," Cameron answered, still glaring at the Australian.

"And what does that leave unaccounted for?"

"White matter abnormalities, seizures, ataxia and a high white blood count."

House stopped and looked back at his female employee. "And…?"

"And what?"

"You're forgetting one symptom," he sighed. She frowned.

"No, I'm not. I've basically memorized Wesley's case file. Those are his symptoms."

"Ooooh!" House cried. "0 for two!" He pulled open the door to his office, taking perverse pleasure in the expression on Cameron's face as it was reflected in the glass.

"Can you please stop being cryptic? What's this new symptom?" Foreman groaned.

"It's not a new one," he stated as he settled behind his desk and popped a Vicodin into his waiting gullet. "Who did the blood tests the kid got when he first arrived?"

"I did. Where are you going with this, House?" Cameron was echoing the same frustration that Foreman had.

"I should have guessed," her boss muttered. "Were you high again, or just busy being a slut?" Even he was surprised by his choice of words, but any regret he may have had evaporated when Cameron's hand met his cheek with a resounding slap.

"Don't you dare bring that into the workplace," she hissed dangerously, eyes narrowed and shoulders clenched. House smirked as he touched the skin that she'd scalded with her hand.

"Careful now, _Allison_. Don't want to add assault to your list, do you?"

Foreman and Chase stared wide-eyed at the confrontation playing out before them. Obviously, this had to do with the bet, but neither doctor could ever have imagined a simple wager escalating to this.

"I'm surprised at you, Cameron," House was saying with a cold bite in his voice. "At least those two idiots can read a basic blood panel. Then again, maybe the bimbo in you has finally emerged."

"What the hell are you talking about?" House tossed her a blue file, open to the page she recognized as the results of Wesley's blood tests. Her eyes skimmed the paper, but nothing jumped out at her. "There's nothing here."

House snorted, ripped the file out of her hands and passed it to the other two ducklings. They read the data slowly. About halfway down the page, both doctors' jaws dropped.

"Oh…_shit!_" And then they were gone, sprinting out of the office and towards their patient's room, faces pale. House gazed smugly at the immunologist who had picked up the folder where it had been dropped, and was scanning it desperately.

"So tell me. How exactly did you manage to miss the part about elevated long chain fatty acids?"

Cameron's hands went limp, and the file returned to the floor. "What?" she whispered.

"Oh, so now you've gone deaf _and_ dumb?"

"You are unbelievably cruel, House."

The light that entered the room from the windows hit her eyes perfectly, illuminating each fleck of color as it darkened. Her eyebrows clenched in confusion; he could almost see the torrent of critics she was throwing at herself, could almost watch her self-esteem drop faster and faster.

Somehow, House couldn't bring himself to hate her. He'd tried, ever since she'd sprinted from his bedroom, and he'd been left alone to wallow in his thoughts, but he just…couldn't. No matter what she did, House didn't think he'd ever be able to truthfully say that he despised Allison Cameron.

And that scared him.

All his life, he was the one who never displayed fear, never addressed emotions. Even before the infarction, he skated over matters of the heart and avoided issues that would delve into feelings he'd rather be left dormant. He didn't do _feelings_. Feelings were for the weak, those people who needed confirmation that their actions were justified, and House had learned that questioning one's self led to doubt and that half a second pause just before you cut into a brain. Patients die because of feelings.

And yet, despite all of his protests and statements to the contrary, Cameron had an effect on him. His heart rate would beat just that much faster when she laughed at his jokes; his leg pain stopped throbbing for a few seconds every time her shoulder brushed his. Really, he'd decided, he was angrier with himself than Cameron. Angry that his first reaction hadn't been disgust but flattery. The woman had risked her career to feel that connection he'd denied her.

She loved him.

So he was going to do what he did best. He was going to run…limp as far away from Cameron as he could. He was perfectly fine with ignoring those pesky _feelings_, no matter what that took.

He needed distance.

Allison turned to leave, shoulders slumped in defeat. "Oh, Dr. Cameron?" House called. She paused. "You're fired."


	14. Pathetic

**A/N: **Okay, so next chapter. Wooh; I know, it's been a while. I apologize for that. My power died on Thursday because...get this...IT FUCKING SNOWED. IN APRIL! Gah, sorry, just a bit frustrated. Anywho, I think this may be the longest chapter I've ever written. I don't know. I suppose it doesn't really matter, but it's another milestone for me. This story just keeps bringing out some newness in me. I'm happy with how this baby came out. It's hot, in a sort of machiavellian way. And I just noticed that I've been spelling 'Stacy' wrong this whole time. For some reason, I was convinced there was an E in there, but on her office door, it's spelled Stacy. Whoopsie. Can I also just say that I love Wesley Weston. He's like, my new favorite OMC. ::skips:: I feel like I'm forgetting something; ah well, no matter. I'll remember eventually. Also, shoutout to my fantastical beta, blueheronz. I wuv her like a fat kid wuvs cake.

** Disclamer: **Roses are red, violets are blue, House will never be mine, no matter how often I sue.

* * *

**  
**

**Chapter 14**

Cameron felt her muscles go lax; it took all her strength not to collapse to the floor. She pivoted slowly to look into the man's face. "Excuse me?"

House sighed dramatically and got to his feet. "You know: sacked, canned, axed, discharged, dismissed, let go. Surely one of these must ring true?"

She fought to keep from screaming. "You're firing me?" He nodded enthusiastically. "But…why? It was a mistake."

House picked at a fingernail, "It was a very stupid mistake. You almost killed this kid. I can't have an idiot on my team."

"You almost kill every patient we take on!" she yelled. "Chase _did_ kill that woman. Don't you dare tell me this is because I made a mistake!"

"Oh, I've always liked dares. I triple-dog you to kiss Johnny!" House aped.

Grimacing dangerously, Cameron approached her…former?...boss slowly. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides; he was a little afraid she'd hit him again. "Go ahead; try and make this funny. I know it's the only way you can deal with your issues."

"You know nothing about me."

She let out a bark of laughter, devoid of humor. "You'd like to believe that. But you've said it yourself: we're more similar than you're comfortable with." She stopped in front of him, hand on slim hips. "We're both damaged, we're both lonely. And we both have feelings that would make working together awfully complicated." Cameron raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that right, Dr. House?"

"You'd like to believe that," he replied, mocking her earlier statement. She pretended his cool demeanor didn't sting. "Unfortunately, the feelings I have towards you right now are disgust and pity." Her heart sank.

"Why?" she whispered.

House took a step towards her. Barely an inch apart, he could feel her hot breath on his chin and could observe the flush in her cheeks. "Because," he said in an equally low tone, "you are a pathetic excuse for a doctor."

It almost shocked him that he had more of a reaction to his statement than she did. As soon as the words had left his mouth, his skin felt clammy, his frown deepened, and his heart felt just that much colder. What the fuck was he doing? Conversely, Cameron just closed her eyes softly and breathed deeply.

"Oh good," he muttered, "you're not going to slap me again."

She smirked. "No. That would be juvenile." Her eyes fluttered open. "I don't sink to pettiness," she said pointedly. The way she glared at him, the way her breasts raised and fell silently, the way her lips were pursed just so…sent blood rushing towards his groin.

_Fuck_.

Why did she _do_ that to him? What was it about Allison Cameron that angered him to no end and made him want to take her against his desk at the same time? She'd seen him at his most vulnerable; she never took his cruel outbursts too seriously…she loved him. And still he screamed and clawed and denied any action he took that could be interpreted as anything other than contempt. How masochistic did she get?

More importantly, how fucked up was _he_?

It was infuriating how easily she could slip past his defenses and do something undeniably adorable or sexy and make him want to kiss her senseless.

Cameron watched him curiously. A muscle was twitching in his jaw; she wanted nothing more than to caress it and make his frown dissipate. No matter what he said to her, she still wanted more.

"You…you live under the delusion that you can break everything that's too perfect. That's why you keep pushing me away." House sucked in a breath. "You can't love anyone because you're too self-centered to think of anyone but yourself. And now that Stacy is gone and Wilson has stopped trying, you're looking for your next victim. You're looking for the next person whose feelings you can sabotage. That's why you're firing me. You're twice my age, you're not great looking, you're not charming, hell, you're not even nice. But I love you anyway. And that scares the shit out of you. What I am is what you need…I won't give up on you."

House smirked dryly. "Nice speech. It sounds oddly familiar."

"I figure it'd cater to your narcissistic side."

His eyes narrowed as he stared into her hardened ones. "That's intriguing. I reject you, and you try harder. You're like a puppy without a tail. You bark and skip that much more in hopes that I'll forget about your faults." He bit his lip. "Well, it won't work. I'm done with your hopeless romanticism and your annoying preachiness. I'm sick of you're optimism and your ridiculous Mother Theresa complex." He paused and leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. He internally patted himself on the back when she stopped breathing. "And I'm not going to watch you try and fix me. I like myself the way I am." He didn't bring his mouth away from her lobe.

"No, you don't," she said breathily. "You hate yourself. You just hate me even more for seeing that you don't need to hide behind sarcasm and Vicodin to be complete. You're running away."

"I don't run." House felt her smile against his jugular. He hoped she couldn't feel his pulse race.

"Yes, you do. You can sprint faster than Jesse Owens when it comes to love." It was his turn to stop breathing. "Is it nice to live in your world of denial and drugged up haze?"

"It's great," he replied, dragging his lips across her cheek. His stubble burned her skin; her eyes closed at the sensation. "You should try it sometime."

"I'm sure I will, now that I have much more free time." Well. That was even more intriguing. She was just accepting his firing her?

"I thought you said you'd never give up." He spoke into her jaw line, reveling in the downy softness of her skin.

"On you. Not this stupid job or your abuse. That stuff I can part with easily." She sighed and stepped back, leaving his face extended awkwardly. "Besides, I'm pathetic. Pathetic people don't impress you. I'm fired because you'd rather push everyone away rather deal with your feelings. I'm fired because you're a coward. I'm fired because you can't accept that love is not the trait of a weakling." She smiled sadly. "Who's pathetic now?"

With that, she turned swiftly and walked out of House's office, hips swaying softly. He swallowed and found his way back to his chair.

_Shit_. He'd done it again.

* * *

House tapped his cane on the floor of Wesley's room, trying to concentrate on explaining the kid's diagnosis to the parents and not on his female duckling. 

"So, what you're saying is that Wesley had _two_ diseases," the mother said carefully, clutching her son's hand in a death grip.

House shook his head. "Not really. He has adrenoleukodystrophy, and one of the symptoms is something called Addison's. Basically, the body can't produce enough cortisol in response to stress. That's why he had an attack at play practice: it was the first rehearsal, and Wesley's body was reacting to getting a part. The stuff we found in his brain, the seizures and the high white blood cell count are all symptoms of Addison's. All of his other symptoms were from the…well, I'm not going to repeat that big long word again." He made a face. "The bad part about being a doctor is having to memorize words that don't belong in the English language."

"Can you not joke around please," Wesley's father asked. "This is our son we're talking about here." Wesley rolled his eyes and squirmed when his mother attempted to wipe some dirt from his nose.

"So the reason I'm not…um, developed, is because of this disease?"

"Basically." House's mind had drifted once again to her stunning body and annoyingly pleasant grin.

"Well, what can we do?"

The diagnostician slid his eyes back to the family perched hopefully on the hospital bed. Two hours ago, he would have taken a perverse pleasure in announcing the disease was incurable and Wesley would be dead in twenty years. But now? Now, the pit of his stomach was bucking at the prospect.

House cleared his throat. "As of yet…there is no cure." He winced when all three smiles dropped. "There are some treatments that have been shown to extend the lifespan of patients by thirty years. Namely, bone marrow transplants and something called Lorenzo's oil. Currently, the "oil" is only a part of a clinical trial in Maryland. It's also very, very expensive." Oh wonderful, here come the tears.

"My baby is going to die?" the mom whimpered.

"Technically, we all die," House pointed out. Wesley smiled at the joke and continued to rub his dad's hand where it gripped his shoulder.

"Well, I'm gonna go." House stood. "I'll have a doctor come in here and make arrangements for your transfer into that trial."

As he turned to leave, the increasingly loud wails of Mrs. Weston stopped his retreat. He sighed and glanced reproachfully at the woman. "Would you like me to give you the name of our residential psychologist?" Dammit, the screams got louder.

"Um, mom?" Wesley said gently. "Could you and dad go outside for a sec? I wanna talk to Dr. House." The parents nodded weakly and walked slowly into the hall. House raised an eyebrow and sat back down.

"I didn't actually want to talk to you, really," Wesley offered. "Her crying was making me depressed."

"Can you blame her?"

The boy leaned back against his pillows and absent-mindedly twiddled his thumbs. "I guess not. But I mean." He paused. "My mom had me when she was 45. My dad is almost 70." House grimaced. "Yeah, it's kind of gross, but it's cool too. I mean, they're both gonna be dead in 30 years. So I don't get why they're so upset."

The older man almost laughed at the kid's candidness. "That's certainly an interesting way to look at this."

Wesley grinned. "I'm not great with feelings. But, whatever, right?"

House gulped and looked down at his cane. "Listen, kid," he began. "Uh…actually, never mind. Good luck."

Wesley frowned. "No, what were you going to say?"

House paused at the sliding door to the room. Through the glass, he could see the parents sobbing in each other's arms. A nurse brought over a clipboard; it was left on the bench beside them. He turned back to his patient. "Just…try to get better at that. Your feelings, I mean. Don't let this bullshit get in the way of having relationships." He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "You don't want to end up like me," he finished cryptically.

"I wouldn't say that. You're a pretty cool dude."

House pulled open the door. "No, I'm really not." He limped away.

* * *

"Where's Cameron?" Chase demanded as soon as House walked into the diagnostics department. Foreman was erasing the whiteboard. 

"She went home sick," he replied caustically. The Australian eyed his boss suspiciously, but turned back to the Suduko he had in his lap.

"Let me know if we get another patient," House said as he clumped into his dim office. "Until then, you guys have rest of the day off." He guessed the soft thud he heard was the eraser falling from Foreman's hand. _Keep 'em guessing_, House thought. _That's why you gave 'em the day off._ He kicked off his sneakers and collapsed in his chair with his Gameboy. _Right. It has nothing to do with wanting to be alone. Smooth, House, real smooth._

He sighed.

* * *

House looked up, the knocking on his office door shattering the silence like a hand through glass. Foreman pulled open the door and poked his head in. 

"Wesley is about to check out; he wants to say goodbye to Cameron."

"She called in sick," he muttered quietly. His knuckles twitched.

Foreman looked concerned. "Again? This is the third day in a row! She must be really ill!"

Nursing a broken heart takes time, House thought before shaking his head as if to rid himself of the idea. She deserved what she got; if anyone should be broken hearted, it should be him.

The neurologist observed his boss, taking in the defeated posture and the bandaged fist. Something seriously screwed up took place between House and Cameron, he decided.

"Well, I'll be in the lab if you need me."

He looked up. "Huh? Did you say something?" His blue eyes were clouded over with doubt and confusion. Foreman didn't answer, instead leaving Gregory House to drown in the current of his thoughts.


	15. Please Read

**Please Read**

Hello, faithful readers (all four of you lol). So, today I recieved a review informing me that I haven't updated my baby in over a month. I checked, and actually, it's been over two months. I am officially a crap person. My apologies for being such crap. I'm sorry for neglecting this story. I'm finishing up my sophomore year of high school, and I'm under tremendous pressure from my parents to keep my grades up so I can "get into a good college." You all know what I'm talking about. In exactly 13 days, I'll have finished exams and be out for the summer. Unfortunatly, in about a week, I'll be volunteering at a camp in New York for under-priviledged children and will most certainly be without internet access. I will continue writing though, and will hopefully have a few updates by the time I get back towards the end of June. I'll also be going to a drama camp for a month, and again, no internet. Alas. I'm just letting y'all know that updates over the summer will be few and far between.

Please don't stop reading this guy; your motivations are what keep my ADHD at bay. Especially after that finale (wails) we Hameron fans need to stick together so we don't go insane. I am promising to have an update up by Tuesday, at the latest. Feel free to hunt me down and beat me with a dull spork if I don't. Much love goes to my beta, blueheronz (go read Crazy Like A Fox, cuz it's straight up awesome). I have 1/3 of an update for, like, all of my stories, and I am gonna kick my muse's ass if it won't let me finish.

Sorry this isn't an update. I totally need to get that out, so sorry again for being a crapbag. Peace, love, and Hameron forevs.

-Laurie aka Timbereads


	16. Butter

**A/N: **So, I promised you guys an update at the threat of a painful death at the hand of a spork...or should that be handle? Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week. So yeah, I took my SAT IIs. May I just say "crash and burn." Yeah. In other news, I've begun watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I think I got meself another obession. Points to everyone who can find all the Buffy references in the chapter. Also, points to anyone who thinks David Boreanaz is a sexy sexy beast. Ahem. This chapter's a bit heavy, but I heard y'all's wish for more humor, and never let it be said that I don't listen. So, hopefully, even the angsty parts are funny at parts. Also, expect to see more of the Angel and the Devil. Oh, and I'm going back to one of the few sub-plots I betcha you all had forgotten about. But I didn't 'cause my mind is a steel trap. Or sumpin. Other sub-plots will be addressed in time. Oh, wow, A/N is getting a bit long. Enjoy, and please try to review, 'cause it makes me happy. Mercy buckets and such.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Butter  
**

Her feet thump-thump-thumped on the treadmill's conveyor belt for the third time that day. Now that she had sufficiently worn out her TV Guide and could no longer stomach the thought of baking _more_ cookies, it seemed all she could do was exercise. Her muscles were aching and Cameron figured she had about 20 more minutes before her left calf cramped up painfully, but it was the only thing left to occupy her mind. She used to be content with running once or twice on the weekends because she had the hospital to keep her busy, but now…well, it was obvious what the flaw in that equation was.

A sharp stabbing pain crackled in her quad. _Damn_, she thought. _Wrong about the time and location_. She was losing her touch. For not the first time since her rather ungraceful exit from Princeton-Plainsboro, Cameron cursed House for his stubborn priggishness. Yes, she screwed up. But they'd caught it, and it was her first major mistake as his fellow. He was pushing her away again, and she was done digging her heels in. If he wanted to be alone forever, then it wasn't her job to deny him that.

She half expected the familiar staccato beat of his cane on her door to reach her ears at any moment. When it never came, she'd shake her head and force his haunting blue eyes out of her mind.

* * *

"Move," House said gruffly before shoving a male nurse out of his way. He went sprawling across the hall and crashed into a candy striper; the doctor hardly noticed, more intent on securing an elevator all to himself. The doors slid shut and House breathed in the relaxing smell of solitude. It was buttery, he decided. Solitude smelled buttery.

In a moment, the elevator dinged and he was once again surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the hospital. He limped to his office slowly, knowing there was bound to be someone in his chair. It was Monday. The fourth day that Cameron had been "sick." Pretty soon, he'd have to officially take her off the payroll and tell Cuddy. That was the part he was least looking forward to.

Pushing past his door, House sighed when he saw Wilson fiddling with his television. He snorted when his friend stopped at _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_.

"Vampires," House said. "They're such a pain in the neck."

Wilson mimed drumming a rim shot but kept his eyes on the screen. House sank into his desk chair; the sound of studio-produced punches disturbed his attempt at sleep. Lately, it seemed he could only get some z's in his office. Which was annoying since the couch wasn't really all that comfortable. But it was better than his bed. Every time he tried to slip under the sheets, he'd imagine her naked body pressed against his back and the butter was replaced with her shampoo.

"Do you mind?" he muttered. "Can't you watch this in the oncology lounge?"

"They're watching football."

"You'd rather watch a poorly acted high school drama about vampires with prosthetic teeth than football?" He snorted. "And you wonder why people always question your sexuality."

"Technically, people question _our_ sexuality."

"True."

"Besides, it's a hot chick kicking ass in a short skirt. Now that is quality TV."

House sighed again. "So, besides being a creepy pedophile, was there something you wanted?"

"Have you heard from Cameron?" Wilson asked.

The diagnostician glanced at his watch. Ten minutes at the hospital and he was already being accosted. Beautiful.

"Generally, if one is fired, one doesn't call one's ex-boss for one-on-one chitchat."

Wilson blinked. "Okay, I'm pretty sure you had too many ones in that sentence."

"It _is _the loneliest number."

"So you have that in common, then."

House smirked. "Oh yeah. We're close pals. I even have a giant foam fingers for my tributes to the Great One." He snorted. "Heh. Great One."

Sighing, Wilson switched off the television and turned back to his friend. "You're evading."

"It is my way." Still, House shook his head in response to the original question.

"And are you happy about that?"

"If I say I'm am, will that make you leave me alone?"

"Nope."

"Then no," he admitted. "I'm not happy about that."

Just as Wilson was about to answer, Chase knocked on the glass wall separating the two offices and gestured for his boss to do his job. "We're not done with this conversation!" Wilson called after him.

"Oy," House muttered.

"We got a new case," Foreman explained when the man had limped to his usual post at the white board.

"I gathered, Captain Obvious."

"Twenty-three year old was admitted following a case review by the CDC. The patient complains of stomach and muscle pain, and has a 101 fever and red eyes. They think it might be Ebola."

House rolled his eyes. "It's not Ebola. They're all morons." The neurologist shrugged.

"The symptoms fit."

"Where's she now?" Chase asked.

Foreman dotted the "i" in "pain" before capping the marker and turning around. "Um, Cuddy and the CDC are insisting on a contamination room. And, technically, not a she."

Chase waved his hands in dismissal. "Whatever, he."

"Uh, technically, not a he either."

The two other doctors looked up.

"Our patient," Foreman continued, "is a hermaphrodite."

House smirked. "Oh, goody. This is gonna be fun."

* * *

_Allison Cameron felt her legs go weak and her heart shatter like the glass that was glistening in the morning sun. "You…you were going to hit me. You wanted me to leave because you were going to hit me." When House did not attempt to deny the accusation, she grabbed her clothing and sprinted from the room, bile in her throat and fear coursing through her veins._

It took her an hour to collect herself enough to drive back to her building. While she waited for her face to stop stinging with rushing adrenaline, she hoped House wouldn't leave his flat and see her just sitting in the car, crying. That would just add to the pile of crap that was her life. By the time she managed to reach her familiar parking space in Sunnydale Apartments' lot, she was sobbing again.

Cameron fumbled blindly with her keys; the tears in her eyes and mucus streaming out of her nose made the process almost impossible. She kept looking over her shoulder, blinking past the glittering glass that fell from the sky and making sure she was still the only one in the hallway. Finally, the keys slipped from her sweaty palms and crashed to the floor. Sobbing softly, Cameron sank down the wall.

He was going to hit her. The man who prided himself on his self-control had lost it in a moment of pure fury. The glass that had sliced his hand to ribbons should have been her face; she had done that to him. She'd made him so angry he wanted to hurt her. House never wanted to hurt anyone. With the exception of a few select patients, the doctor she loved would rather hurt people mentally. Never physically.

Wiping her face dry on her shirtsleeve, Cameron grabbed her keys from the floor and easily slipped one into the lock. The apartment was cold and dark, and she couldn't help wondering if her furniture resented her for bringing them down. She'd bought the four-room flat fully furnished from two middle-aged newlyweds that needed a bigger place so they could, "start a family." Over the course of her occupation, the apartment went from a sunny home that smelled of mothers and the pot pourris the departing owners left on the shelves to a quiet cave that never saw any guests and never felt the warmth of genuine laughter. It was almost pathetic, really. A glossy photo of her and Zach was the only personal item in the cave.

She sniffed and dumped the pile of clothes on the kitchen counter. The clothes she hadn't had time to throw on before running out of House's apartment. House.

It wasn't that he was going to hit her that made her horrified…well, there was that. But, she thought grimly, she was the one who'd made him so angry. Again, she asked herself what she'd been thinking.

_"You were just trying to be near him. What else could you have done?" _the angel on her shoulder reasoned. Cameron decided if her mind needed to hallucinate religious figures to make sense of it all, so be it. The devil rolled her eyes.

_"You could have gotten him into bed and left. Or, better yet, you could have called an ambulance!"_

_"She'd already determined he was stable. Calling 911 would have caused him more trouble."_

_"Oh, so she did a _service_ to House, then? Took time out of her busy schedule to fuck with an unconscious man and add more crap to his already overflowing Barrel O' Issues."_

"I don't like you much," Cameron muttered aloud to the devil.

_"Hey, I'm just a manifestation of your subconscious. You want someone to dislike, try looking in the mirror."_

Cameron shook her head to clear the images. As she gathered the clothes off of the counter and into her arms, something fell from between the folds and rolled noisily across the linoleum. Frowning, she picked up an orange pill bottle. _Probably the one I found in his hands_, she thought. _Must've been under all of my stuff. _She spun it slowly with her fingers. There was no prescription label. _Wrong type of bottle for Vicodin._

"What were you on, House?" she whispered. Still, she put it back on the counter and shuffled into her bedroom. She tried to ignore the glares from her lonely furniture.

Butter.

* * *


	17. Empty

**A/N: Holy shitake mushrooms, look who updated! I spent more than a month on this chapter and the next one, discussing what I want to have happen with my beta (blueheronz! GO READ I AM A ROCK, I AM AN ISLAND, I AM A HOUSE!), writing stuff, deleting stuff, and otherwise attempting to make this a good update. I'm terribly sorry for the long wait, but I think it was worth it. At least, I like what I came up with. Some notes: everything that happens with Dana is in the past, hence the italics. Also, I tried a new format. It jumps around. A LOT. But I promise it makes sense. Anyway, I'll let you guys read. Oh, and happy 50,000+ hits to me!**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Empty  
**

Foreman rolled his eyes once more in the direction of his boss's dimly lit office. Barely ten seconds into the differential diagnosis, House had stumped out of the room and to his desk, where he'd been rifling through drawers for the past five minutes. Chase hardly seemed concerned.

"What is he _doing_?" Foreman muttered to himself.

"Who knows?" Chase replied. "Who cares? I don't."

Foreman looked pointedly at his co-worker. "You don't care about anything except who you'll bed tonight." The blond sniffed indignantly and returned to the difficult task of picking his nails.

"Ah HAH!" House exclaimed as he burst back into the conference room, a piece of paper brandished triumphantly. "Found it!"

"And what would that be exactly?"

"Well, I've never met a hermaphrodite. And I always said, if I did, I had to ask him…her…er, it, some questions."

"For example?"

House glanced at the page before clearing his throat. " 'Question number 27: do you shave your legs?' or, 'Question number 12: does it hurt to get kicked in the crotch?' "

* * *

Wilson shook his head in disbelief at House's glee over the hermaphrodite, but he had bigger fish to fry. Metaphorically, of course, since he'd decided three days ago to go vegetarian. Ever since House had made him eat a bowl of bacon after losing a bet, the thought of meat made his stomach turn. Still, if he had to fry a fish, he figured this one was probably worth the loss of appetite.

His train of thought brought him out of the diagnostics department and into the administrative one. He paused at Cuddy's door when he saw that there was already a woman speaking with the Dean; sighing, he resigned himself to going through the employee files in the exterior office until they were finished.

It would have to do.

* * *

_"So, are you, like, a dude or a chick?" one student asked. Dana Parks gritted his teeth and clenched the fists that were hidden behind his podium._

_"Well, although I have both male and female secondary sexual characteristics, my specific disorder only happens in those with an XY chromosome, so I identify with men," he repeated for what felt like the 20__th__ time._

_" 'Identify'? Does that mean you, ya know, like guys?" another child piped up._

_"Um, no…I meant that I think of myself as a man. So does my girlfriend."_

_A chorus of "ew's" and "no way's" filled the classroom. When he'd begun his lecture circuit to educate high school students on hermaphroditism, he had expected them to be more mature; now, he knew better. Still, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, he tried to grin and bear it._

_"Hey, mister-missus-person-guy? Are you cryin'?"_

_Dana looked up, confused. "No, I'm not."_

_"Well then, why're your eyes all red?"_

_It was too hot…_

_Parks peered curiously at his reflection in his titanium watch-face. His eyes were indeed red. Suddenly, a crippling pain flashed through his stomach, forcing him to his knees._

_Amidst the concerned cries from the teacher and students, Dana managed to choke out a weak, "Call 911," before screaming in pain as he writhed on the floor._

* * *

Judging by the shocked silences from both of his fellows, House guessed his list of questions was not going to go over well. Years of pissing off people had improved his Disgust-O-Meter.

And then they burst out laughing.

Well. That was not the usual response.

"_How_ have you not been sued into the ground yet?" Chase exclaimed through his high-pitched giggles.

House frowned. "I have. Many times."

"Better question," Foreman interjected. "Why hasn't someone popped a cap in your ass!"

"Yeah, that's happened too."

The peals of laughter subsided.

"Well, then why aren't you dead?" Chase asked.

"I've been dead, too! Jeez guys, do you even pay attention any more?"

"It's hard to remember what happens to you, sometimes," the Australian whined. "Cameron is usually here to remind us."

House groaned internally. _Oh crap_.

"Speaking of, where is she?" Foreman demanded.

Folding up the piece of paper and tucking it safely in his blazer pocket, House plucked the marker from the neurologist's hand and pondered the symptoms on the board. "DDX, let's go," he said.

"You can't change the subject!" Chase cried.

"Pretty sure I just did."

* * *

Cuddy stared. "You…you can't be serious."

* * *

Wilson snorted when he saw the file. It was full to the point of overflowing. He'd expected nothing less. There were lawsuits, disciplinary notices, unfinished charting, department notes, and most importantly, a history of medical practice spanning Gregory House's entire career.

Pulling up a chair, Wilson flipped to the first page: House's evaluation as an intern at the Mayo Clinic, more than thirty years ago.

* * *

"I'm completely serious. I'm sorry."

* * *

"Is it on any treatment for Ebola?" House asked.

"_He _is on a banana bag. If it is Ebola, that's all we can do for now."

House internalized the symptoms Foreman had written up: fever, muscle pain, red eyes. He paused and threw an annoyed look at his two remaining fellows. "Well? Let's go, you two. What could this be?"

"I agree with the CDC," Chase said. "It looks like Ebola to me."

"I changed my mind. Chase, shut up."

"Maybe sarcoidosis?" Foreman interjected before the Australian could protest.

House nodded. "What else?"

"Toxic Shock Syndrome?" Chase tried again. Both Foreman and House turned slowly.

"Chase," the neurologist began. "Did you even read the file? This is a hermaphrodite with 5-alpha-reductase-deficiency. He has a micro-penis."

"You don't need to have a vagina to get TSS. If he's had a surgery recently, bacteria could've gotten into his system."

Foreman flipped through the file. "He had an artificial testicle attached a month ago." Chase leaned back triumphantly as House wrote TSS on the board.

"Okay, I want a blood culture test for TSS and a chest X-Ray, blood tests, and a PET scan for the sarcoidosis. I'll be with Cuddy. Happy testing!"

* * *

Wilson sat forward. _Interesting_.

* * *

Cuddy signed the resignation papers sadly. "I'm not happy with this, Cameron," she said.

"I…it's complicated. But I just don't feel comfortable in this work environment anymore."

"If there's anything I can do…"

Cameron smiled and shook Cuddy's outstretched hand, trying not to cry. As she'd suspected, House hadn't bothered to tell his boss of his firing her. But as she slipped the letter into bag and stood to leave, she felt like tearing it up into little pieces and throwing them into his face. She did nothing wrong. And she just didn't buy House's excuse that his privacy was so egregiously violated. There was some other reason for his anger, and it hurt that he couldn't see past his own unhappiness and realize she wasn't just going to go away.

She sniffed.

* * *

_During the ambulance ride, all Dana could concentrate on was how empty he felt._

* * *

Wilson glanced up as the door to the inner eye opened.

"Cameron?" he asked, confused.

She was frozen, staring into the lobby.

* * *

House couldn't breathe. Her eyes bore into his. Every feeling he'd ever experienced in her company bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He felt too small for his body.

* * *

Cameron hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and took a step in his direction. It was time he understood just what she thought of him.

* * *

_Empty._

* * *


	18. Colors

**A/N:** Yes, it's an update! Ohnoz! I think the next weather report will show hell has frozen over. Sorry it took a, erm, year. What's up with me, you may ask? Well, I'm applying to college...so, that's fun. Except in a way that's totally not fun at all. Fingers crossed guys! Although, if I don't go to college, I imagine I'll be updating a lot more often so maybe you guys aren't the best to ask. No, I'm kidding. Anywho, this is a loooong chapter, I think. Kind of makes up for me being a butthead and not updating. **I would really really really suggest going back and reading the last chapter or two so you can't remind yourself of what's going on. **After that, you might want to go cry for a second because of the AWFUL, HORRIBLE, DISGUSTING turn the real show has taken. Okay, I'm being dramatic, but what the fuck, Mr. Shore? I've been watching the first three seasons, and there were so many House/Cameron hints. Now we're forced to watch Cuddy turn into an even worse doctor AND get groped a lot? Ick. Plus, the whole Thirteen is an asshole and Chameron is still going on. Where has my show gone?! cough Sorry, didn't mean to rant like that. Ahem, yeah, enjoy the update. And please review if you have any criticisms, or if you just want to yell at me for taking so long. I totally deserve it. hangs head in shame

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _House_ in a box, I do not own _House_ with a fox. I do not own _House_ with a lamb, I do not own it, Sam-I-Am. My apologies to Dr. Seuss.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

"When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving oneself,

and one always ends by deceiving others.

That is what the world calls a romance."

-Oscar Wilde

In life, in death, in love and in hate, people can be depended on to trying to make sense of it all; it is the nature of the human condition. They draw the lines in pen. They force the puzzle together and accept the picture that appears, despite the broken pieces that keep it from truly being finished. There is black and white, and things fit on one side of that line, and one side only. Life, death, love, hate, there is a place for each within the psyche, and there they stay, straining against the knots that trap them. Black and white. It's simple.

The thing with black and white is that, when you mix them together, you will always get gray. No matter how much white you add, it will remain gray until the end of time, when life and death and love and hate no longer exist.

So, with each step Cameron took towards him, House felt the gray melt into everything he saw, and everything he felt.

It was strange, he thought, how often that happened when she was around.

Her shoes tapped softly against the floor, and, had he been a character in a Nora Roberts novel, each one would echo over and over in his mind. As it were, the only sound he could hear was, for some reason, a woman talking on a cell phone in the clinic lobby. His heart was so quiet he was afraid it had stopped. The rhythmic beating of his cane on the tiles was strangely muted. And Cameron's heels were silent.

"Grand slam? No way!" the woman proclaimed. He processed this. _Baseball_.

In that moment, set against the background of pitches and fouls, House yearned for the echo of her footfalls. Because, in a Nora Roberts book, he could be secure in knowing the story would end happily. And Cameron wouldn't say exactly the same thing Stacy had.

Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to hating and being hated. He degraded everyone he met, and accepted that, as soon as his back was turned, they'd degrade him right back. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly. It was the natural order of things, since his birth and right on to his death.

Can a lie become fact if everyone believes it to be true? House knew the answer, but ignoring the question had made it much easier to get out of bed each morning.

He was vaguely aware of the woman hanging up her phone, and of his cane pausing its dance with the hospital floor. His blue eyes regained focus on the woman standing silently before him, and he found himself nodding when she asked if they could talk in the privacy of a clinic examination room. And as he followed her through the crowded waiting room, he felt another hair on his head fade into gray.

* * *

The light slap of papers against the mahogany of her desk jerked Cuddy's attention away from the computer screen she'd been glaring at for the last five minutes. She stared questioningly at the man who'd dropped it on her desk.

"I think I know what's going on," Wilson said.

The tightness in his mouth and somber light in his eyes told Cuddy that it was not good news.

* * *

Cameron took a nervous breath and hitched her purse up on her shoulder out of nervous habit. He limped after her slowly, following her to an empty room and leaning against the counter as she closed the door and shut the blinds. Slices of fluorescent light flashed angrily against the metal tools that stood neatly in a row, like soldiers off to war.

She knew he was watching her shoulders rise and fall; she could not feel his stare, she just knew it was what he'd be doing. He watched and observed and tested and experimented. The world was his lab, the people his rats. She understood that he would take in every minute detail of her posture and her refusal to face his piercing eyes would not escape his notice. She let him continue his scientific analysis.

He's House. It's what he does.

"You were in Cuddy's office."

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Then she shivered. It was not a question, not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

So why did he sound so betrayed?

"Yes," she said.

He didn't reply for another minute. Cameron imagined him, standing behind her, with a frown etched across his face, trying to visualize the puzzle.

Of all his annoying habits and flaws, it was his thirst for puzzles that both intrigued and angered her. She'd always compartmentalized her life: Cameron, the doctor. Cameron, the woman. Cameron, the lover. When one identity invaded the space of another, things got messy, so she preferred to keep them separate. House didn't see life that way, and apparently couldn't understand that some puzzles were not his to solve. She didn't mind his prying questions about why she went to medical school; his curiosity was warranted. When they were at dinner, she didn't mind his scathing analysis; she didn't expect him to do anything else. It was when he mixed the pieces to her heart and mind together…that was when she found herself angry.

It was illogical, of course. She was one woman, not two or even three. Completing one picture would help finish another. But House cheated. He drew his own picture, cut his own pieces and glued them together when they didn't fit.

He was breaking the rules.

"Why'd you see her?"

Cameron snorted and turned to face the man. "You know why."

"I want to hear it from you."

His eyes were pointed at the floor, so she couldn't tell what he was thinking. For a man who hid so much, his eyes told far more than he probably knew.

"No."

House looked up. "No what?"

"You don't get to do that anymore."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," he sniffed. It almost made her smile. He noticed, and took a step closer. She countered with a step back.

"I'm not going to let you affect me anymore. The next time you snap your fingers, I'm not going to come running."

"Why?"

She felt the corners of her mouth turn down and the tension build up in her shoulders. One word, that's all he needed to say, and her mind went blank. Why, indeed? Suddenly, she couldn't remember.

"I…"

"You what? Come on, Cameron. The floor is yours." The tone of his voice was biting.

"Because I quit. You never told Cuddy about…what happened. So I quit. I don't work for you anymore. Foreman and Chase can deal with your nonsense, but I'm done. I said I'd never give up, but Jesus, House. I'm sorry, but I think you're right." It came out in a barrage of noise, one single breath where each syllable seemed to fly across the room and crash into the man who stared hard into her face. She wasn't sure if he was even listening and not just watching her lips move up and down, trying to learn something new about her dead husband through the curvature of her tongue. "You said that you'll always be alone. Maybe you will be. And that makes me sad."

What's weird was that, despite everything he'd put her through, she was telling the truth.

House opened his mouth to laugh, but no sound escaped the passage of his throat. "Do you think I care if I make you sad? I make blind puppies cry with pity." He said it sarcastically, but it didn't reach his eyes. His blue eyes.

Cameron raised one manicured brow and crossed her arms. "I never know. Sometimes, you're a kind man, and others…" She didn't have to finish for him to get the point.

He changed the subject. He had to change the subject.

"You said I didn't affect you anymore. Why?"

"Actually," she said grimly, "I said I wouldn't let you affect me anymore." When he took another step in her direction, she found the clinic cabinets had stolen all the empty space behind her.

For a moment, they regarded each other silently. Cameron couldn't help but shuffle absently under his unyielding gaze. Still, she had to hold her ground, so she concentrated on taking in every fold of his wrinkled jeans and every stitch missing from the flannel that hid some band t-shirt.

"You're wearing heels," he murmured. The statement threw her, and she took a second to process it.

"Yes."

He nodded. Then:

"Why? You're quitting. Why would you cause yourself unnecessary pain on a day that already sucks pretty hard?"

That gave her pause. "Uh," she stuttered, "heels don't hurt me anymore. I've worn them for the last three years pretty much daily."

"Not for the last few weeks. You switched to Nikes. Why did you go back to heels? For that matter, why are you dressed up? You're _quitting_, not going for a job interview."

"I wanted to look nice, okay, House? I didn't want Cuddy to think I was just quitting because I'm a lazy schleb."

"Yiddish. Interesting."

Now she was getting frustrated. "It is not interesting, dammit!" She was twiddling with a reflex hammer behind her back; the cool metal danced across the hot pad of her thumb.

"There's no reason to look good to resign. Unless you were expecting to see someone." She didn't like where he was going with this. "Did you dress up for me?"

The bark of laughter that escaped was completely unintentional. Really, she surmised. Still, the back of her neck flushed under his piercing scrutiny.

"No. Not at all. Not everything is about you."

"No, but this is." One, two, three more steps he took, until she could feel his breath lightly caress her lips.

"It's not, House. You're wrong this time." He had to be wrong. She was done with his games. He had to be wrong.

She knew he was wrong.

"I'm not wrong."

Cameron wanted to smack the impish little smirk that had snuck onto his face away, and leave her mark on his stubbly skin. She wanted his cheek to burn as hot as her chest, as her stomach, as her thighs.

He took another step closer. His calm breathing made his breast barely meet hers.

"Step back, House," she said in measured tones.

"Why?" When she ventured a glance up, his face was blank. He was playing with her, she could tell. This was another experiment, a test to see what she would do. House being House, only this time, she wasn't just going to watch. She was going to screw with his results, skew his findings.

So she pushed him.

He hopped backwards on his good foot, surprise evident on his face. She suppressed the urge to ask if his leg hurt.

"You're wrong." Her skin tingled as her hands remembered the feel of his chest beneath them. "Sometimes you don't get to solve the puzzle. I dress for myself; there is no underlying cause. And even if there were…it's none of your business. Deal with it." He was inching closer again, his cane forgotten somewhere behind the examining table. Every time he exhaled, the nerve pulses all over her body exploded, and each inhale seemed to suck the oxygen right out of her lungs. She shoved him back again.

This time, he was expecting it, and his good leg supported the brunt of his weight.

"I'm sick of you digging, House," she growled. He was two feet away, but the sensations continued. "You don't always win, and you don't always find the answer. I am not your test tube anymore." He'd gotten closer again, but she couldn't be sure who was moving. "Do you even understand the _concept_ of compassion?" His eyes were darkening the tendons of his arms were taut. " Everything is just 'a leg for a leg' with you. You hurt me, I hurt you. Well, it worked." Cameron realized that she'd been the one inching forward, 'til once again, they stood toe-to-toe. Every muscle in her body twitched and the rushing in her ears drowned out the pounding of her heart. Hands met chest, and her shove sent him crashing into the cabinets on the opposite wall. "You hurt me, House. You cause me _pain_. Being near you is like drowning in a pit of acid."

She came into this room to tell him how she felt; now she just wanted him to hurt.

"I can't let you do this to me anymore. You're burning holes in me, and you will never stop."

"This is not about me calling you names, Cameron, and you know it," House growled. "You can't handle the thought that maybe I'm just always going to be a bastard, because that would destroy your view of the world. You don't give a shit about me; you're trying desperately to avoid admitting to yourself that the problems in your life can't be fixed with love and kindness. Don't drag me into your existential crisis!"

"You _are_ my existential crisis! How can I possibly keep going when you make me wonder if maybe getting up in the morning would be a pointless exercise? I don't trust anyone anymore. I don't even trust myself! You're infecting me with misery."

House pushed off the wall. "You're infecting yourself with misery."

"Stop telling me what I feel," she yelled, vaguely aware that both their voices were getting too loud.

"Then don't tell me I'm the reason you're leaving!" His voice was thick with rage and regret and something she couldn't identify. "This is guilt, Cameron."

"You are the reason. I'm fired, remember?"

"Your fault, not mine."

The lights seemed to blur together behind his head as she went to shove him one more time. He seized her wrists before she made contact and ripped them apart violently. She knew he could feel her pulse racing, pounding against the barrier of pale white skin. The wall met her back with a crash as he swung her against it, sending waves of adrenaline to every inch of her body. Their faces were so close she could count the grey hairs in his stubble and examine the shade of blue his eyes had turned. Chests heaved, blood rushed, ears rang.

He was wrong. He had to be wrong.

"I'm not sorry," Cameron rasped.

"Neither am I."

His mouth crashed down upon hers, sending bolts of heat down her spine and colors dancing across the darkness of her eyelids. Her hands were still locked in position above her head, and she strained against his grasp, wanting desperately to push his lips harder onto her own. The faint echoes of pain in her back from her collision with the wall blended with the tingling between her legs until every nerve in her body was exploding. Their tongues danced. His kiss was so violent, so hard, so angry, that she could taste the delightful drops of hot blood that dripped down her throat. Someone was moaning and someone was growling; she didn't concentrate on who was who.

Suddenly, her hands were free as House's went to clutch her waist. She grabbed his neck to pull him closer, had to get him closer. He hissed softly into her mouth when her nails scratched at the sensitive skin beneath his collar. Pain was good; it chased away the gray and replaced it with red. Red for blood, red for lust, red for anger.

Pain was good.

He jerked away, ripping their mouths apart with a smack. Her pink lips were swollen and her breathing was dangerously labored as she watched him watch her. He sucked a lungful of cool air, then grabbed his cane and limped slowly out of the room.

Cameron sank to the floor. In the reflection of the metal frame of the exam bed, she regarded her face curiously. There was a frown marring her forehead, there were tears stinging her eyes and there was a small smile that wouldn't disappear.

She leaned her head back and sighed.


End file.
